Like tugging on a ripcord. Then the pause
before the fireball swallows him.
Self-immolation, it is called - to make
it sound a tad respectable, no doubt.
We hear him through the flames.
Screams of pain? No, none of that, but calling
in his high tone voice: "Take me, take me now!"
It's The Buddha that he's calling.
He's never been a Buddhist - until now.
Looking for a shortcut, I suppose?
None of us can get in close.
The flames are threatening to last for ever.
People, trees and buildings: all are seared
and blackened by the fire.
Then they subside to night-lights. Flickering.
A charred corpse sits there with pale orbs for eyes,
his body glowing red,
but soon he stands and towers above us as
a man full-grown, of adult stature,
his beard luxurious.
And we all falling to our knees, beseeching
Allah, Buddha, Jesus, any deity
who might be listening.
Jingle Poetry suggested Cartoons, SciFi and Super Powers for this week's prompt. This is one of those last two, but I'm not sure which.