Fiery, yellow heat.
The harsh rays of the sun spread across the skyscrapers, causing them to glint as if they're decorated by the stars of the night.
The coconut trees shake lazily in the warm, humid air. The sun stares at the sea angrily.
Everything is bathed in an ochre hue.
An irritating buzz of thousands of air conditioners blasting cool air into matchbox sized apartments fills the courtyard in front of me.
A tiny plant attempts to fight the heat. The plant next to it has given up this futile attempt, and lies dead, killed by the summer.
The battle of creativity.
I see a bright orange hue, the fire of creativity that's destroyed before it grows.
It's the orange that stands for expression, for freedom. It's the orange you see when you're blindingly angry, the orange you see when you close your eyes in bliss. It's the orange of imagination.
I scrunch my eyes tighter, and a battle between black and orange ensues.
Orange wins.