5.11

5.11

I’m thrown forward

Onto the pavement

Onto my hands and face.

I taste blood.

My nose is bleeding

And broken.

My glasses are gone.

I can’t see, but I can hear.

Screaming, someone is screaming.

Something is screaming.

My scraped palms push me up

Into Cobra Pose,

Wiggling and itching on my forearms

And now on my face.

So much screaming.

I wipe my face.

Now the wiggling is on my hands.

It’s moving.

Hundreds of little things moving.

And screaming.

What have I landed on?

Where are my glasses?

I inch forward, reaching for them.

The screaming intensifies.

I put the glasses on.

The lenses are scratched.

The wiggling is on my shirt.

In my shirt.

They’re not ants.

They’re people.

Tiny people.

And I’ve crushed and killed

Most of them.

Suddenly a shadow

Blocks out the sun.

I look up to see

Black stars.

The tread of a combat boot

Walking forward

Shaking the earth.

I hear loud laughter

Coming from the sky

And then I’m gone.

We’re all gone.