I am staring down at a black slate panel. Engraved in the panel, which reflects some of the sunlight back at me, are the names “Robert Louis Scandole,” “Robert C. McLaughlin Jr.”, “Johnathan Neff Cappe,” “Andrew Alameno,” and “Timothy J. Finnerty.” There are other names, stretching down the panel for what seems like infinity. Looking slightly higher up, I can see a massive yet elegantly made hole in the ground. It is similarly made jet black, yet highly reflective, like a kind of black marble. Water runs down the sides of the hole in streams, gather down in what looks like a foot-high pool, and slowly makes its way to the center of the pool, where it falls down a second hole that is deep enough and at a shallow enough angle from where I am standing that I cannot see the bottom.
I am staring upwards at a large building. It is an example of modern art reminiscent of the famous Sydney Opera House. It a large white, curved building that arches forwards towards me, resembling perhaps part of the body of a massive worm or serpent burrowing into the ground. There are countless spines extending diagonally upwards and to the left and right of the central body that appear to curve further outwards the further you go down the structure like a human ribcage. At the front, there is a crest-like shape that serves as a cap to the structure’s flowing spines. Running down the center of the structure appears to be a glass window, likely a ceiling. There is a large fence separating me from the structure.
I am in an extremely gaudy and elegant building. A church, to be specific. I can see a memorial to a famous naval captain who lived in the 1800s. His name is blocked out by shadow, as the text is covered by a large arch supported by two terra cotta-colored columns. The arch is decorated with an etched floral pattern. The part of the text that is not covered in darkness reads, “…of CHARLESTON August/Died at WASHINGTON August 4, 1865/A Naval officer for 38 years/Without a superior. above all sectional feeling/He distinguished himself in the service of the/UNION, in command of a Frigate at PORT ROYAL,/at SUMTER in command of as Monitor,/at MOBILE BAY as Fleet Captain/and Commander of the Flag Ship HARTFORD./A JUST MAN, TRUE PATRIOT AND GOOD CHRISTIAN.” Several words on the memorial are written in a larger font size than others. Below the text is a small roof-like structure, on which is etched the capital Greek letter alpha (A) inscribed in the capital Greek letter omega (Ω).
In front of the fence are various people milling about doing various things. Two young women in brightly-colored shirts and black sunglasses are having their picture taken by a man in blue wearing a black backpack. To their left and my right, a large group of citizens are walking across the frame, speaking to each other as they do so.
I see a young man and a young woman, walking next to each other. Only their right sides are visible to me. The man is a tall fellow with brown, close-cropped hair, a grey shirt, blue pants and brown leather shoes. Not much of the woman is visible from here, only her blonde hair, black backpack with blue water bottle sticking out conspicuously. and similar blue jeans and brown shoes. There are multiple thin trees around them, kept from growing too thick by restrictive concrete bricks around their bases. They stand separately from the crowd gathering by the hole.
On the empty stretch of hardwood floor between the church benches and the altar, several teenagers with bags and headphones pass by, my fellow students here to record the art. But staring towards the altar, seemingly oblivious to the students walking by her, is a middle-aged woman. She is wearing a black and beige leopard print shirt that showcases her girth, along with a brown, posh-looking handbag, black cloth pants that reveal her ankles, and black slip-on shoes. She has a golden bracelet on her wrist, her hands clasped. She has curly hair and thick black-rimmed glasses.