¡revolución!

A hazy cloud settled over the valley below us as we stared into the dark expanse. The glowing sun set beneath the clouds in a deep, burning red. Bursts of light scattered around the city, sending showers of red sparks through the air. Smoke covered the dwindling city lights. The sounds of gunshots penetrated the air, seconds delayed after the crackling lights. We waited in dark and silent anticipation for the fire to come closer and clearer. Alarms rang out through the streets, rushing to the rescue. We held our breaths, then gasped in awe of the sky exploding before our eyes. The cry of a baby broke out and parents shushed their young children. Louder explosions began to echo in the hills around us. Our hearts jumped at the sound and we reached to cover ears, to protect from the harsh sound of destruction. The fires brightly lit our faces before turning into ash and blanketing us in darkness once more. And yet the Fourth of July doesn't hold a flame to Disneyland's 50th.