This is a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less) and each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end.
I have stood here for 50 years. A clear view of the surrounding environment and observing the changes wrought in the passing seasons. I hear how they describe me now, as “an eyesore” or “a blot on the landscape”. I fear that they will not have long to wait for my demise. I feel the rust creeping up and into my steel girders. Eventually, the rust will erode my strength and I will tumble to the ground. I do not want my legacy, the recall of my history, marked by those I crush beneath me at my ignominious end. Once I was useful, contributing to society. I hope that they remember that past and gently dismantle me with the respect I have earned as the sentinel of this place.
(129 words not counting title or rules)