Work Text:
When she was young, KL could spend hours gazing up at her night sky. Sprawled on rooftops, curled up on the grass, perched in a tree sipping sweet coconut water, it didn’t matter how or where - she could spend hours counting those stars, raised fingers tracing patterns, pictures, writing in all her different languages. They said the stars told tales, containing the souls of immortalised heroes, heroines and creatures, and she liked to imagine them, how even in the galaxies above their stories were still playing out.
Now the pollution has set in, has seeped into her skies, her air, as a dull, but constant itch down in her lungs, she can’t see her stars anymore. But whenever she misses them, she’ll take her car out and race along her roads and soaring freeways, stepping hard on the gas until even her humid night air whistles with a cold breeze that whips her long hair behind her.
When she wants a quieter moment, she’ll go up into the Petronas Towers, right up to the very top floor.
And down below and all around she’ll see them, the thousands, the millions of lights of her cars, her houses, her schools, her offices, her towers. She might not have her stars anymore, but here are her heroes, her heroines, but above all, her people. She makes her own stars, red, orange, gold, white, neon, their lights illuminate her from within, and she smiles, that faint, lazy smile.
For there’s nothing more beautiful than a city at night.