December 14th, 2012

When my teacher asked us first graders today:
“what do you want to be when you grow up?”
There were doctors, vets, teachers, but
I wanted to be a superhero.

I took my crayons and drew a hero.
I had used all colors but one.
As I grabbed the maroon crayon,
I heard a loud CRACK! and then a voice.
It  was a very angry man.
I don’t know why he wasn’t happy,
but that’s where my last moments began.

I don’t think he wants to play,
but he brought a toy with him.
It makes funny CRACKS! and POPS!
Yet with each bang,
my teacher grew more afraid.
She took us all into a corner,
and together we all prayed.

Suddenly the very angry man
burst into the room, and the
bangs hurt all my friends.
My teacher interfered
which brought her life to an end.

I soon realized this was no game.
I sat quietly, and still. Staying hidden.
I stared from across the room
at my superhero, with powers unwritten
standing on paper, at free will,
yet real saving stays forbidden.

I see my crayons that lay scattered
broken, and dead like my friends.
Why do I care? My crayons don’t matter.
Though I’d wished I saved them
because this isn’t a game. This isn’t pretend.

Only one crayon is unbroken.
Its maroon color bravely stands.
Who am I to be the unbroken savior?
Who am I to be their superman?

I am so scared. I’m alone, and now the last one breathing.
Am I awake? Is this a bad dream?
My tears drop continuously
into an everlasting stream.

I can be a superhero now.
He doesn’t have to stay on paper.
I’ll save the last maroon crayon.
Then my fear disappears into a vapor.

I ran across the room and
my life flashed before me.
My first steps,
My family,
My crayons,
My superhero…

Suddenly a there was bang.

I saw the maroon crayon break in two.
Broken maroon pieces were flying free
into open air, amid my vaporized fear,
But it was the last thing I would ever see.