Finally, we were there. This was it. The abandoned Brunswick Zone.
We always drove past this place and seen it from afar. Now that I was here, I realized how much smaller it was than I remembered it, and much more lifeless and melancholy up close. The parking lot, debris being blown by the cool evening wind, the cracks in the cement infested with weeds, felt lonely and empty but with an air of mystery.
I got off my bike and approached the front door. The faded paper signs on the glass must have seen better days...
"The sunset! It's so lovely!" I exclaimed on the ride back home.
"What color is it? Blue, purple, orange?" asked my father.
"No!" Those weren't the right words to describe such beauty. "It's, uh..." I racked my brain for the correct words. "The clouds are a slate-gray, but further down you can see a pale lavender-prune color. And finally, at the bottom, close to the horizon, you can see a bright tangerine orange."
As we kept pedaling down the street, the wind in our face, every now and then swatting a bug away, I added on to what I had said out loud. The clouds are a blanket trying to put out a great blazing fire. The fiery streaks are reaching out, trying to pull the blanket of clouds down into the flames of the sun...