On a bright and yellow morning, the heavens broke loose and formed a cavern in the clouds. From this cavern came a twister, landing off in the distance at a pasture; and in that twister was the silhouette of a man with shiny wings.

He and the storm approached our farm once they settled into their surroundings . At first, I thought him as an angel, the windstorm as a phenomenon from the gods, all the light as the sign of a rapture we so longed for, as men on the brink of hope do. But then he turned, saw us hiding in the cornfields with his red eyes, and let out a screech. Metallic, as if a truck’s hanging bumper were to drag the street.

The clouds turned pale and sickly, as did the twister. It gained the speed to whirl itself a sharp tip, which it used to pierce through the roof of our barn. We knew it hit ground when the building and its livestock exploded into dust. Not even debris. It destroyed too well.

My youngest son Luke dropped his basket, screamed, and ran towards the house. I chased behind him, my oldest son Mark followed, and this provoked the android to give chase. Yes, it was an android. That android was a gift from the new government, a group of lifeforms no different from gods. And this was an apocalypse, but only for us. For us.

“They’re coming for the land!” I yelled over the harsh wind, my strides falling behind Mark as to protect him from the mechanical mercenary trailing behind us. His vortex had a powerful pull against my limbs growing heavy like metal. “Get to the basement! Now!”

The three of us thrashed against the winds till we were covered by our porch—shabby, but sturdy enough to block the storm for now. At least from this great a distance, for it moved deliberately in an effort to kill everything. My boys were smart enough to let fear take them indoors as I kicked the door down. I watched them grab John the stuffed hound dog from the couch, and together, they scampered down the stairs to safety.

However, I still had this paternal nerve twitching inside me. An instinct to fight back. Life nagged at me to go, but instead, I turned to the twister, clenched my fists, and glared upon it. This dirty, tumultuous storm that devoured what was once my land…with tears in my eyes, I cursed at it till my voice cut out. It was only a moment. Then, I caught my tears with one hand, my anger by the throat with the other, and jogged down to the basement. There was no time to close the door before it was pulled off the hinges.

The safe haven was dimly lit by a flashlight on a box, and the shadows of Mark, Luke, and John stretched along the walls and the other boxes of surviving items. I joined them at the makeshift table to share in the inevitable anti-gospel.

“Pop, have they caught us?” Mark asked me, almost laughing. “Are we finally going to die?”

“Don’t say that!” Luke cried. He whimpered, cuddling the dog toy by its neck when we heard glass shatter upstairs.

“Yeah, Mark, don’t say that,” I repeated softer. “If not for your brother, then for me.”

My oldest son cringed at the hoarseness in my voice, but refused to question it. Instead he asked, “What will they do to the land after they kill us?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Perhaps they will build a mall, a base. Even a intergalactic space center if they wanted to.” I pinched at Luke’s plump, clammy cheek. “You know, the high-tech gizmos! Wouldn’t it be cool to have aliens walking on us?”

As Luke giggled and brightened the world that began to vibrate around us, Mark scratched his own, narrow cheek, his face closer as mine. “If they have the technology to create that angel of death, they can do anything.”

“That, I’m sure about,” I told him.

He shook his head, trying to deny himself. “I don’t want them to turn me into that machine, Pop. I’ll rather die a human than to live as a superweapon. A murderer. Please don’t let that happen to me.”

It went silent in the basement except for a ring. Before I could respond, the ceiling ripped off into the swirling atmosphere. Nothing remained of the house that stood for near a century. Instead, I only saw brown the tail of the twister, as sharp as a scorpion’s, and the android. The angel of death, who gleamed ghost white in his metallic armor, had flew down to examine his targets.

Mark, Luke, and John the Dog cowered in my embrace as the wind sucked our belongings into the vortex. We were heavy enough together to withstand the storm, but in time, we would become nothing with it, dust in the aftermath of destruction. And he watched on as we sat in silence together, for if we howled, we’d suffocate.

My sons and I embraced the extinction of humanity, more so if it ended with us. The android, intrigued by this, manipulated the winds to lift us from the cavern and back onto bare ground that was once our porch.

I looked up to a face as scared as mine, then thanked him for his mercy.

“I do not pity you,” he said. “I envy you.”

“Why,” I asked, “when you could kill me right now?”

He smiled weakly. “Matthew Parish, do you know how it feels to outlive your children?

To see them die, and have to forever live with that?”

I felt a silence too thick to break, so I remained silent.

“Maybe you should pity me.”

He grimaced as he pulled a bundle of cords from his nape and threw them to the ground. They beeped for a moment and then died. Tracking devices.

“I refuse to kill myself over and over like this, for nothing in return but fear. Today, I am android no longer.”

“Then who could you be?” It was my youngest who peeked his head out to speak.

“Who I original was,” said the man with shiny wings. “My name was Soma.”

In the bright and golden noon, Soma left, leaving me alone with my sons to collect our bearings as much as the flying dust did on our clothes. Before we released, I squeezed them tighter, even if they wanted to squirm away from me. The angel of death and his storm passed over us that day.

Sometimes, I wondered if his mercy truly saved us or not, and still, I do not know. We lost everything but our lives, but that meant there was nothing else to lose. And so we got up and walked with hope.

Hell is not fire. Nor ice. It is total darkness.

You are hung, blind in a pitch black dimension. There are shackles on your wrists and ankles to detain you, but you cannot distinguish where their chains pull you towards. You can feel the lukewarm breaths, of voices on your bare skin, though you are alone. They are demons. You assume they want to possess your body, but they feed off happiness. They climb in through your ears, and for every good thing you force yourself to think of, they whisper six, more evil thoughts to eat them.

The vile creatures seep into your bloodstream and laugh from the inside, making you queasy everywhere. Your stomach is first to shrivel. God, Hell is so sickening. A symptomless plague that you know is poisoning, killing, and devouring you. And the worst thing about it is whether you escape or not, it will always be there, sitting in the back of your mind or waiting for you in mirrors, where it stares back with a slight, painful smile.

Standing from the shoreline, I see

him swimming for something to eat;

another meal he’s had before drags

recklessly to his great, white flag,

kissing fin. He flashes red teeth.

Follow God as He tracks down a twister

(which we consider the thunderstorm's angel of death).

It ravages the land as a pure abomination

And of course it would,

it serves Obliteration itself.

But even before the annihilation begins, He opens his mouth and inhales deep.

The freighting roar of the Devil's train ceases

and swallowing death -- sharp as a sword -- He blows back to the world a gentle breeze.

November 11, 2013:

(~tisk, tisk, tisk

whoosh)

My Autumn dies slow

in November's stodgy breath.

Your death needs more life.

(~tisk, tisk, tisk

whoosh...

our souls float different drifts...)

With this single match,

I strike wood off my soul, this

combustible heart

And fly, I do, to

your cold and crying members,

this last, kindling kiss.

(~tisk, tisk, tisk

whoosh!

what glorious, fiery risk!)

The kiss of a lion,

tongue of flame accompanied,

sends me your warm love,

laps the gentle air,

colors the wind like the trees,

roars them back to life.

(~tisk, tisk, tisk

whoosh.

I hear the sirens crisp.)

Beware, water chieftain.

I prolong, not stop, sure death.

Her life will end soon.

You call her "wildfire,"

but men of blood assault her

like beasts, with their spit.

(~tisk, tisk, tisk

whoosh!

to Autumn, my eyes shift!)

Enjoy this final act

This audience only blind

to your bright beauty:

steps that spring up ash

under dress of heaven's light,

dancing with the leaves

(~tisk, tisk, tisk

whoosh...

the smoke has finally lift...)

____________________________

December 9, 2016:

(~tisk, tisk, tisk...)

We burned ten in Troy,

but with your hue on my back,

I can still keep warm.

(~tisk, tisk, tisk...)

My body is flesh, not titanium

And sometimes I act without my cranium

I am not invincible with my heart on my sleeve

and how splendid is that! Can't you see

the satisfaction that even the vulnerable can

achieve the seemingly impossible

~

What's in being the toughest cookie

when all will crumble in the end, eventually?