The Aftermath Poem by Chris Schleier, Jr.

In the meadow of wheat
dances a lad

basking in the hearty grains
natures wholesome meat,

Skipping daintily

in the heat of June
under a yellow sun

for hours

until

a gush of wind

blows out the sun.

Silence...

Frozen in his stance of merriment.

Eyes to the sky...

A faint whisp of blue...

Distant...

A hollowed whistle...

Louder...
Brighter...
Closer...

Louder. Brighter. Closer.

Louder! Brighter! Bam!

Square in the chest.

Airborne
Ten feet
Backwards

Thud.

Shaking, twitching

breathless...

Concentration.

Building.

Expanding...

He belches a blue flame

throwing him up right...

Fire stops...

False equilibrium...

Sneers staggered fangs.
Eyes of magma...

Dimmed.

Turbulent twitching...

Shrieks to the sky
spewing a streak of bright blue heat...

Halt.
Blank.

Deep
Hollow
Fading

Gone.

Down and out.

Yellow from the east
rushes onto the singed wheat

sneaking into the eyelids
of the lad that lays

He sits up,
blinking hard.

The fire that sat
scorched his nerves.

A never healing burn.

He walks across the field
with fire on his mind

twitching all the way home.