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tumbled to the earth beneath the heat of shooting flames,
cannibals became tinder, and the shapes of forgotten gods
moved within the smoke—my art engulfed it all.
I stood amongst the fires and bodies and shrieks, calling
out to the Mother of Cannibals. My voice rose with the
smoke and fire, crashing down upon the burning city,
cracking aged timbers and worrying the red-hot flames.
Suddenly, emerging from without the smoldering mouth
of a giant crater, they came—baying and hungry, blind and
monstrous. This was the great company of Black Molly
Patience, atrocious creatures from the underground, all of
them sculpted by the dusky hands of a blind god under the
earth. There was a white bear, without hair or eyes, equipped
with claws so overgrown as to seem almost comical. Alien
wolves with their frosted eyes of lightest blue. And a lean,
hungry cougar with a mouth that occupied nearly every inch
of its head, evicting even its ears and nose in favor of jaws
that could open wide enough to admit a whole person. My
sisters moved to my sides, our laughter growing with the
fire.
The wolves were the first to fall to us. They attacked as
a single force, hoping to drown me in their numbers. My
sisters were like whirlwinds, twisting and turning with
maniacal precision, entering and exiting the beasts like wind
blowing through tall grass. When the wolves fell to the earth,
they did so in pieces that quivered and whined.
The gigantic bear-thing came next, its unearthly roar a
challenge to my father. I returned my sisters to their sleep,
and he entered the fray, striking the fool creature’s head
with such force that it exploded into a starburst of blood and
brains, the finale of a fireworks display made of gore rather
than gunpowder.
It was the great cat that managed to momentarily break
my stride. It attacked from behind, seizing my neck in its
enormous mouth. I reached behind my head and spread apart
its jaws until I heard the wet cracking of bones deep beneath
126 | Mark Anzalone