I think
it was the ashes
that fell first
like snowflakes, like pieces
of fallen clouds
floating
but beyond the ash rain
there was
fire
dust
destruction
and the souls
of the people
who screamed in fear
and anger
and sadness
at the sky
that had betrayed them.
It was
the rain,
first,
the fire rain,
tongues of flame
leaping out of the
clouds.
Then
the black lightning
plunging its fatal tip
into the ground
and sometimes
into people.
Then
the whisper-soft
snow
the electric, acidic
the snow
hissing against
the exposed flesh
of the
unlucky.
There were many
unlucky.
Then
the white flash
of thunder
sonic
blast
like
a scream
from the sky
that
tore the flesh
off those not yet dead
and those who
already were.
But there were
a few
who survived
the rain
the lightning
the snow
the thunder
but there was
wind
and it was
the wind that
seeped into their pores
and tore them, ripped them
from the inside out
there was
no
escape.
The bits of person
fluttered in the
breeze
alongside the
ash.
YOU ARE READING
Black Zone
Short StoryA King. A creature stuck in a dark prison made of its own pain. And for some reason, these two are meant to be. {Honorable Mention in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards}
