Orange

by Gabriela Lee
Orange is the last color to flood your vision. Before this, you are able to see the tall dark
silhouettes of the buildings around you, the wide avenues lined with smoldering branches of trees,
the empty windows staring at you in judgement. You meet their gaze. This is your fault.
Before orange, you see red and yellow and shadows as people lie down on the streets and
accept the burning of the world. A man evaporates beside you. (Ashes to ashes, dust to stardust.)
The ground shakes beneath your feet, forcing to your knees. No prayer comes to your lips; only an
apology. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. Above the ruins, the dominant sun spreads his arms,
encompassing the horizon.
You never close your eyes.

Reference:
Urquiola, L. & Lacuata, M.J. (2017). Voices: 21st century literature from the Philippines and the
world. Abiva Publishing House