The sky is constructed of cement and asphalt, its sluggish movements often disturbed by the boastful buildings and skyscrapers that, from an aircraft, look like chunks of grey, tall LEGO blocks with a forever red, blinking eye. Up that high, the wind’s angry yawn of the morning rushes through your ears like thunder, yet not as loud as the mighty roar of the Ferraris that cruise by.

Now, let’s travel a few hundred feet below the wiry buildings to the ground where cars sweep by their reds and golds a stroke of paint: smooth, perfect, marvelous. 

Staring in envy are the rock still houses with ivy strangling them, choking them, as these days, people care more about the digital world than where they live. The house’s head is filled with metal slabs called solar panels, their skin all sooty from the raging fires that grow in a fiery blaze around the city to dispose of the unwanted.

The orangutans coming from their apartments are hunched and sleepy, the bags under their eyes heavier than the dozens of shopping they carry, the feet now squared from the stilettos that patter as they run to their office: a grey looming build everyone is forced to go to earn money as these days everything is controlled by the power of technology, and so people have a minor part to place on this stage.

The air tastes bitter, cold, and tense and stabs your skin as the wind murderously surrounds you while you sit on a freezing metal bench eating a heartless meal with congealed cheese due to the cold. The smell of food is no more aromatic, no more luring you to the restaurant like Pandora’s box. Now it is the smell of fumes from the lions that whizz by and smoke from the dying fire, now no longer a kaleidoscope of blue and red but now black and weak and dying.

The city’s motto is: ‘The future, we strive’ but little did they know that the decisions they made collected into a pile of anger that would eventually burst like a volcano: burning the earth and making it one again to a black, molten ball.