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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic





My loving Miki;

black Japanese hair.

She’s a gazelle sniffing around the kitchen. 

So satisfied, the both of us. 


Sleek. Sweet. Soft.


Tsunami survivor.

This morning, 

boiled eggs in those cutie little cups.  

A textured toast and coffee from Kenya. 


Orange slices and chunky white cheese. 

But Miki’s more delicious. 

Cream at home in love. 

Slinking panty hips

and tea cup tits.

My Miki.

“Where you going girl?”

“Gotta pee.” 


Her last words.


The huge window, 

our north facing wall,

normally the border to everything else,

out there,

comes in. 

Glass splash. 


And like an electronic line drawn,

an instantaneous trail of smoke, 

explodes Miki

into a mist

and leaves her wet on the wall. 


Flakes of nighty lace flurry through the room

like black snow, 



This in an instant. 

Some horror instant. 

Just before the next one.


Sound catches up.

A megaton boom comes with a wind

full of debris

that pelters my face before I can raise my hands.

A bone shaking percussion.

The building screams in agony.

Blood beads from multiple instant punctures.


My floor collapses away below my feet. 

It tilts and splits into cockeyed planes.

The ripping carpet slaps my face to the side.

 Studs and sheet rock grind. 

And glass.


This new event.



Where’d you go?


I fall through floors. 

through people’s lives.

Their lamps and tables

an instant passing.

Through the laws of chaos.

This is a fact.

I’m in the midst of it.

I am in the midst of a killing crush.

A gravity induced end of life will be mine.

My life.

I’m a helpless sack of water

tumbling within a grinder.


Grays and blacks flash with the colors of walls 

and furniture and dishes, 

all there churning before me,

falling with sunlight shinning in.

Flashes between the blackouts.


Falling with a choking dust 

interspersed with fire bursts,

natural gas warning,

blinding pulverized shelter.

Architectural blades

dripping with organic mass

roaring with death stink.



My breath sucks in 

which fuels my scream;

like a reflexive cough,

like a squeal,

a gagging choke scream.

My heartbeat is shot with fuel.


The building chunks grind;

gravel of everything. 

My left arm at the bicep gets in my eyes. 

The rest of the arm hangs swinging 

with my slide along the collapsing floor,

sanding my clothes off;

sanding my skin.

Blood following behind my fall 

in flight all around;

in suspended drops.

Laying in with the plumbing water’s rivulets.



Frantic dances of swirling dust and a rain of rocks 

and implements to help the living people.

All around me, I know,

if they’re still alive

they’re having their last breaths.


Compartments suck and blow.

All the rooms pushing air one way or the other

like popped balloons.


Helpless tumbling.

Rattling teeth breaking jolts out of control.

Scientific principles determine my fate

instant by instant.


Chunks become vapor,

like clouds. 


Not there.  

Everything is a reflexive observation;

harsh realization haunts. 


These horrifying experiences are my last experiences. 

Some rebar is in any instant a potential spear in my guts. 

Add in a killing rip. 

Totally devoid of care. 

Not only slice, but grind. 


Rock. Concrete. Glass. Furniture. 

All teeth in this particular grinder. 

These horrors I’m in. 

These unstoppable horrors.


Impossible chaotic cacophony horror.


Suddenly the crash jolts to a halt; 

three settling movements.

I can feel the crush verses resistance 

looking for balance.

Gritty dust continues to fall. 

Water is raining from the rubble above.  

There is blood. 

I’m on my side looking out at the smoking city. 

A huge building panel hangs just above me, 

touching my shattered arm. Feeling heavy.

Dangerous. Fatal.


Out over the city

sputtering impacts

like heavy raindrops on dusty ground

kicking up chunks and dust,

roaring like a waterfall.



Suddenly on my good arm my skin pops

a splashing crater. 

Some kind of non-pain.  

Hot sand at some thousands of miles an hour 

doesn’t stop at skin, flesh, or bone. 

It just keeps on going, 

breaking a piece of me as it goes.

Making a crater.

I see it but my pains get no worse.



Lives are bleeding 

full of agony there in the valley, 

below me,

down on the street below my death bed, 

hanging out over some five stories of rubble.  

I can hear them.


A chorus of end of life screams.

Squishy screams cut off abruptly;

and gagging moans, 

by crushing and impact. 


Cries of sadness. 

Realization of loss. 

And all that’s left is to scream out.

The loss of the last hope has already happened. 






This gravel pile

set off a beautiful show;

a dance of the instant streaks of light. 

They come in with no arc.  

Miraculously beautiful.  


An ocean of 

tiny prickling pains

washes over me .


Look at that.


It falls in faster 

shattering everything it hits.

Even piles from previous hits.


Like bullets hitting pumpkins. 

Some so close.  


Pops and I play PacMan like maniacs. 

Played so hard it makes my thumb numb. 

My Pops.


Misty Lake looks over her shoulder and smiles right at me.

My eyes are still open. I still see. I’m not dead.


And then there was Liz. 

The pinnacle of love. 

Fell away as classes changed.


And Samo just before I met Miki.

My good friend now.


The block rumbles and shakes and settles. 

Some hundred tons.  


But the love I’d been searching for?




Tons on my chest, held up by rubble; 

slowly settling. 

Hundreds of tons tug towards the middle of the earth

and I’m in between the two.

My Mom. 

Her face.


A crunching groan of a boom

shakes the whole building.

Explosion flash.

Another hit. 

A big one.




my vision falls away. 


Oh, Miki. 


You popped. 

In the midst of my loving look.


A sound like static gurgles out of me.



Her lovely way;

energy of a windy day.

The wind upon which I fly.

A poem I wrote.

A year ago.


The love of Miki and I. 


Her sweet softness. 

No, sweet’s not right.

It’s blood. 

The thing we have.

Our connection is a lot more than sweet.

It’s the spirit of the blood and guts of two laying together.

It’s love sanctioned.

We’re married God. 

In your freaking name.




I’m on my back and my head’s lower than my feet. 

And my love is dead.

I can look over my shoulder and see the horrifying chaos

of the street stories below. 

It’s like an angry anthill. 

All the wounded people pouring out from the mountains above. 

But anyway, 

my God, 

my greatest and final love 

was annihilated right before my eyes.



I’ve slid down the floor of my flat

and stopped just under a hundred ton slab of building sides

which is aimed at my chest. 

This crushing potential killer 

also saved me from falling to the streets below.

You’re funny, Jesus.


Which of these shakes

of my collapsing mountain

is going to pop me like a pimple?


Things that made up my comfort zones, 

now blades and hammers.

Uncaring killers.


This is a scientifically explainable phenomenon. 

God save me. Is that a valid process? 

Do you save me?

That’s the thing, God. 

All of us. 

Belief or not. 

You rain water on the good and the bad. 

And you rain fire on the same. 


A black veil works in from the sides

hiding my demise.

I’m hanging at death’s door

but I don’t know it.

Dreams again flitter.


Although it is.

But it isn’t. 

But it is.

I awaken in some shattering confusion.

Out in the distance,

out in the city,

a chord.

Moaning humans by the ten thousands.

All together.

I know here, hanging with my head down,

that all those lives are bombed.

And they are crying out loud,

full out,

in their final realizations.

Crap crumbling still, all around. 


Up from a daze;

like sleeping but not.

A battle to be up while down pulls hard.

Down towards,

I think, 



I know this laying here

conscious of every breath.

Strangely feeling some pain that I’m able to relax in;

knowing I have no chance to survive.

Then it doesn’t hurt as bad.

No reason to fight.

Letting go feels like a bliss.


Some commotion rushes in 

with frightening rocket speed.

The horizon blooms with light

behind the ruined jagged remains of a skyline;

the silhouette crying of its destruction.


For just an instant

the scene floods with light;

violently whacking all the surfaces,

screaming light

filling my sky.

An instant of overall washout.


Light is all.

Doesn’t matter if this slab of building slips.

Something’s coming.

I might not get to finish this sentence.

But I do.  

And I do.

Nothing but a star right next door.


My breath struggles with the weight

on the way to crushing me.


Time no longer a factor;

unrealistic stretches of it.

I lay witnessing utter destruction 

and a realization of much more coming

by the look of the sky

in its cockeyed angle

a freaked light.

A deepest base note rumbles.

Oncoming crisis.

Rushing towards me

but I don’t see



Roiling orange and black

deep reds and dazzling yellow

racing at me like a train.

This thing is not going to stop short.

I only have seconds.

Every thing in my sight is shaking down; 

settling to the surface.


Hiking through sunny woods, 

the dog of my childhood, Joey, bounds around.


“We’ll make a beautiful baby.” 

She lay over me straddling my leg. 

Pressing in with permission. 

That’s love. 



The building all around groans.

Threatens to slip. 

Just a little bit would squeeze me out.


Mom pours my juice; 

you’ll live to a ripe old age.  


All engulfed in light.



our first encounter,

she listens with a smile.

She, like a bowl of milk.


A fire.

It lifts every thing in it’s path 

and flings it at me.

Encroaching cremation.

Maniacal wind mountain. 

My death.

Oh crap! 

Oh Miki! 




©Thomas Van Horn 2016






Submitted: November 30, 2016

© Copyright 2020 Thomas Van Horn. All rights reserved.

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