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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
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