by Coleman Bomar
He is on the table, dead, finally, a dead “man” cut from the meteor
that fell two weeks before. Peeling the rind of stone, they found him
gold skinned and physically ubermensch. “I am the son of stars,” he
said. “I am the lad of light come to say that Sun loves you,” he said
among black shades and leveled barrels. Taser prongs stung his skin,
shocking his smile to a scowl. Then, syringes and scalpels. They
pierced, pried. Asking: what’s inside you son of sun? Ra has never been
welcome. We would kill stars if we could. Light on Earth is alien work.
They took the specimen screaming into a white room with white walls
with white lights, and turned them off.
© 2019 Coleman Bomar
Coleman Bomar is a member of the International English Honor
Society, Sigma Tau Delta, and an Isaac Anderson Fellow at Maryville
College. He enjoys writing intentionally subversive fantastical poetry
aimed at exposing rather than beautifying.
Find more by Coleman Bomar in the Author
Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum
Return to Aphelion's Index page.