In a development that has sent shockwaves through the chattering classes and caused a minor spike in sales of black turtlenecks, the iconic Reflecting Pool on the National Mall has inexplicably turned the colour of a bureaucrat's soul. Officials are baffled. Tourists are horrified.
Local pigeons, traditionally a robust and unflappable breed, have been seen huddling in existential crisis, refusing to bathe. The pool, which for decades has loyally reflected the stoic visage of Abraham Lincoln and the general disappointment of America, now looks like a portal to the ninth circle of hell, or possibly a discarded vat of licorice runoff from a nearby Candy Crush factory. 'It looks like ink,' gasped one Midwestern visitor, clutching a fanny pack containing her sanity and a half-eaten corn dog.
The National Park Service, in a statement more watery than the pool itself, assured the public there was 'no cause for alarm' and that the discoloration was 'merely aesthetic,' which is precisely the kind of language used before the ground opens and a void consumes the Washington Monument. Scientists are scrambling for answers. Theories range from a rogue algae bloom (the polite term), to a sinister chemical spill from a secret government mind control project (the plausible term).
My sources deep within the Smithsonian (a man named Kevin who cleans the toilets) allege that the water has been replaced with concentrated cynicism distilled from the evening news. But the true horror, the real existential dread, comes when you realise that in a city built on symbols and appearances, the pool is now reflecting exactly what America has become. A black, opaque, slightly viscous surface that does not reflect so much as absorb.
It is the only honest thing in Washington. I offered to taste the water on live television, but my editor said no, citing insurance and my fragile relationship with my liver. Instead, I threw a penny in.
Not a wish, just a final offering. It sank without a ripple. The pool has no mercy.
It is the colour of ink, the colour of headlines, the colour of the space between two thoughts. It is the end of reflection. God save the pool, and God save whoever has to clean it.
