Drop Dead Gorgeous

When I was a little girl, my teacher taught me that the red rim around the sunset was from pollution in the air. That dusky pink twilight that caught the eye like fire in its sultry dance—that was only the careless waste of the world. That humming night seductress—as beautiful as sunburn—she claimed the lives of birds so that she may continue to reach covetously for the sky.

And I, confused, always thought, "How can something so beautiful be bad? How could something so bad be so beautiful?" But I was a child then. Now I can look at the sky, into her deadly bedroom eyes, and I can say, "It's beautiful. It's beautiful, and it's killing us."