Sunset over the city The metropolis is an ugly creature. She is always babbling away and never bothers to clean up a er herself. In some ways, she is like a child’s playroom, all giant, mismatching blocks that are thrown about as though someone has just thrown a tantrum. Through di erent eyes, she looks like the corpse of a giant robot, all the parts of it painted an unappealing, dull grey. The only colours one can see in the day me are the unnatural glares from the neon signs and adver sing boards, trying to sow the thought that your life will become even emp er without the latest products. the products that featured on those boards just a few days past now li er the sidewalk like candy wrappers at the bo om of the trash can, whispering to each other their pi ful stories and weeping over the abuse they have been subjected to. The only redeeming quality the metropolis possesses is the way she bathes in the last rays of sunlight, readying herself for a night of exhaus ng revelry. The mere minutes that she has to change her costume for the second act is the only me she can exhale, take o the dull grey costume and reveal her inner beauty. Minutes that are too short. However, she makes every one of them count. The second the sun’s nger ps graze the horizon, sighing with content as he falls into the cold, soothing ocean. The metropolis seems to angle all the glass and concrete, which make her so monotone, perfectly to re ect even the niest rays of warmth and light, spreading symphonies of colour all over herself like a cloak made of silk. Grey turns to hues of red royals have only dreamed of wearing, oranges which painters cannot fathom or replicate no ma er their e orts and rose colours which make owers envious. For a moment, all eyes turn to the sky, unable to resist the hypno c calm that seems to u er around the city like billions of bu er ies. For a moment, the metropolis becomes a beauty queen, plucking the roses from the sky for the colour of her lips, the ery red for the luscious locks of her hair and the violet of the embrace between day and night for her eyes. She throws her arms wide and laughs with the sound of a thousand choirs and church bells, as carefree as the last warm breeze which plays in her hair. She forgets what she will return to as soon as night calls her back onto the stage for the noisy, dark and danger- lled second act. She wishes she could speak the sun’s language. She would fall to her knees and beg him to stay, just a li le longer. I see the sunset re ected in every pair of eyes as I walk down the streets. They may be eyes lled with sorrow, fear or longing, but the sunset ignites a hopeful spark in each one, no ma er how discouraged. The piles of trash become diamonds, sparkling for just a moment like the world’s greatest treasures. The colour shoots through the air and suddenly every breath is like champagne on my tongue. A brief smile crosses my face. It is just a shadow, ee ng and ski sh, and moves on quickly, but I feel a ckling between my shoulder blades, as though I could sprout wings and y above the claws of any skyscraper and chase the sunset all around the world. fi fl ft fi ti tt fl tt tt fl fl ti ti ff ff ti ti tti ff fi ti ti ti fl tt tt ti ti fl ti fl fl tt tt ti tt ti ti Night falls too soon, and the uorescent lights begin their heavy labour, breaking their backs tring to compete with the colours the sun has just displayed. Ar sts will be kept up all night, analysing which colours their pale e lacks and how they could pluck the colour from their memories and plant it so that all might be able to use it. The engineers pour over charts and formulas, desperate to create a device that can capture the light as the eyes do, but to no avail. The sun has kept the recipe to its colours a wellguarded secret that the greatest minds on earth cannot even hope to replicate. Maybe it is his partnership with the city. Maybe something so beau ful needs a place so human to open our eyes to its ti fi English: Sec on A→ Prac ce fi ti fl ti pain ngs. As the city reclines herself back into her role, she smiles as I do, because she knows that tomorrow will bring another sunset and, however ee ng it may be, she will be lled with that joy again.
