Bright neon lights pierced the curtain like a thin veil and formed an aurora borealis on the plastered ceiling. Tall skyscrapers towered over the tiny tower which I called my humble home. I envied the people there. Their glass panes reached from the top to bottom, and theirs was crystal clear. Didn't want a view? They had layers of blinds and curtains to hide behind. They were of different colors too: wood brown, dull cream, teeth white, chestnut brown, and the occasional shiny gold. My window was a mere playhouse part: ugly, rough, wooden frames were screwed tightly to a slab of thick and muddy glass. The paint on the wooden frames were yellowish green, like mucus, and small flecks had begun to chip off to reveal a rotten brown hue. Yuck. And the curtains! They were just as useless as a chocolate fireguard. They were thinner than the thinnest crêpes, glitter and cheesy patterns scattered all over them. They let in so much light that you wouldn't have realized that they were there in the first place. The only thing that could block out the light were a pair of miniature doors. They swung slowly from creaking, rusty hinges. Closing them was a chore, and so was opening them. Whose idea was it to fit such large covers for such a small window? Only a strong man, like a wrestler, could have the effort to move them. The weight of those things could break a back.

I pushed my chair closer to the window. The light nearly blinded me. I squinted my eyes as I observed the world around me.

Night had clearly fallen. A royal blue tapestry hung over the city, yellow-gold stars and a pale, whitish-yellow moon were weaved into that tapestry. Several clouds, shaped like balls of cotton, blanketed the Earth. Every now and then, a shiny metal bird would travel across the sky, flashing tomato red and amber yellow lights. Sometimes they flashed sapphire blue and emerald green. I remembered the last time I had ridden one, and the last time I did was a long, long, time ago. I wished I could have another go at it.

Down below was an eyesore. Bright streetlamps showered the ground with cheddar-colored light. Fluorescent sticks shone so strongly that the rays not only brightened the interiors of convenience stores and small shops, but poured into the pavement. Traffic lights, suspended from slate grey or leafy-green-painted arms, signaled motorists with three colors: ruby red for "stop", apple green for "go", and lemon yellow for "get ready". Shiny soapboxes with wheels ("cars", they call them) sped past the buildings. Some were as large as an elephant, others as long as snakes (though not as flexible), while the rest were rather minuscule. Many of them wore coats of jet black and pearl white. Some were clothed in sparkly silver. The more daring ones flashed shades of navy blue, rouge, royal purple, or apple green. One time I managed to spot a maroon Sports Utility Vehicle. This jumble of hues gave me a headache, yet it wasn't even the worst part: neon spray paint vandalized brick walls, and the sides of concrete fences were blotched with a grotesque mix of street "art" and posters.

Noise plagued the city: harsh music blasted from humungous speakers; occasionally there would be the sound of drunken men breaking glasses, shattering windows, and turning over oak tables; cars roared and honked incessantly. I could hear the rumble of a million footsteps and supercharged engines. And with all this cacophony, who would want to live here? This was a place for the deaf, the delusional, the hard-hearted, and the broken. A Hell on Earth disguised as a metropolitan haven. They baited others into thinking that a journey to this place was like walking down the yellow brick road to Emerald City like Dorothy and her friends.

A couple of blocks down the avenue laid a hospital. Ambulances flared screeching sirens. Patients were rushed into the emergency room on stretchers or rolling beds. Some of the folks there didn't look sick at all. Hypochondriacs, maybe. A few unfortunate fellows limped around the premises, holding onto crutches or wearing casts on their lower limbs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a young girl being escorted out of the compound. Though she looked rather mature, her parents held her as if she was still learning how to walk. Then I realized: in place of her left leg, she had a metal limb. I glanced down at my own legs, both of which ended in stumped knees, and sighed.