You will always remember the first glance of the city.
You will always remember the clip of your feet hitting asphalt. You will remember the burning in your chest as you drink the chilled air, a drink sweeter and more satisfying than coffee. You will remember looking up at the buildings- and up, and up, and up, so high you cannot see the tops. The windows are glass and not broken, they are smooth and lit up with the warmth of a color you do not know yet.
You will always remember the way the boy whispered Red, as he looked up at the same buildings. Defiantly bold, the spirit of the world.
You will always remember the sounds coming from the streets. Laughter- clear, joyous. A flowing voice that moves up and down, a voice that sounds like a smile and drifts like the wind. Crisp snaps echo around the buildings and the collective cheer of people rises to the purple sky and fades triumphantly.
The boy is crying but he is not sad. That's what orange sounds like. I want to see it. Please, let's go see it.
You grab his hand and you are running again. Through the streets, to a gate. Up a set of stairs hanging off the side of the building. You relish the sound of red in the clanging of your feet on the metal and you get to the top and you stop- and look.
You remember the feeling you had when the boy told you about orange- and now you know the name: warmth. It courses through you and glows and stirs within you and hugs you with a kindness you have never experienced before. It sears the darkness and shines through the night- the first time you have ever seen night. The night exists so that the orange can shine through it. It is so, so much better than the endless gray.
You look down below you at the City but you can't see anything, everything is blurry, and tears are sliding down your cheeks but through the tears you see orange... and you are laughing.
