The city will be dressed in flowers—in colors. 11:59 PM, the countdown begins.
“5… 4… 3… 2… and 1!!!"
Boom! The city dressed itself in light. The fireworks display had begun.
Fireworks raced to the sky like bright, impatient prayers—wishing for a prosperous new year, splitting open the night sky with colors too loud, too beautiful, too destructive...
The people below tilted their faces upward—mouths open, hands raised, applauding the brief violence of beauty.
They called it a celebration.
They called it joy.
Yet the animals think differently. It was a sign of the dead, a calling, a loud noise they can never escape.
The cat crouched beneath a parked car, her body folded into itself. The sky screamed, and she pressed her ears flat, eyes wide, counting each second—when the bone clattering noise would stop, she only understood nothing, nothing except fear. The street she had memorized, the city she had lived—every nook—had betrayed her, only exposing her to the harsh and loud reality.
Behind doors, dogs paced in frantic circles. Nails scraped wood, painted walls clawed. Each breath was fast and shallow. They searched for corners where the sound could not reach them, but it was everywhere—inside the walls, inside their ribs, above the house they live, above their heads. The dog whimpered into a blanket, confused that the humans he trusted were smiling while the world seemed to be breaking, he couldn't comprehend why. Why the humans seemed to be enjoying their suffering.
Above them, birds abandoned sleep. Startled from branches and ledges, they went flying into the air in panicked flocks, silhouettes cutting through smoke and sparks. The sky, once a map of stars, had turned hostile. They knew that the night was never silent, but it was never this loud. Their wings beat wildly as some lost their sense of direction, some collided with glass towers that reflected the fireworks instead of moonlight. Feathers drifted down like snow yet no one noticed.
The fireworks ended, like every year. The smoke has thinned. The applause faded. People went home believing the night had been beautiful—happy that they were able to live another year. But the animals left were traumatized, some were dead. Under cars, behind doors, and high on trees, the animals stayed awake, others went to sleep, long after the sky went dark—hearts still racing, others cracked, others not beating, the city no longer sounding like before because a cat won't listen to the human call. Because a dog won't go outside anymore—it will live in the corner, somewhere hidden, silent, cold. Because the early birds will never get the worm.
After the fireworks, the silence was loud. The streets now echoed fear, for the animals that also wished to live for another year.
