Below the grey slope flows a frothing stream emptying into a deep trench. Here the dark pool bubbles as if with sighs from the dead sunk in the mud below. For the wolf, they leave a phone on the slope. An app emits the cry of a dying rabbit. The wolf arrives and lurks, then collects the squawking thing in its mouth. Later a text arrives from the hunted phone: "every risen start is now setting."
Sciatic cords of light rise from the tube TV on the street to the reticulated branches above. Throbbing weaves of light circuit the trees. They glow blue. And the heat flushes a cardinal from its nest into the weird air. The bird flies over the scorched plain and lands on a window ledge of the flooded national library, rising as a pyramid with a flattened vertex. After attacking the window, the cardinal makes its metallic chip song.
Aircraft drop incendiary bombs on the city. Burning phosphorus swallows the ruins of a zoo. Beneath deep rubble reptiles squirm. The aquarium explodes. Monkeys and gorillas flee, hair singeing as they run. Shattered glass aviaries empty themselves. Trapped in their temple, elephants die. Rats work the huge rib cages and mounds of entrails to make a golem, filling its head with flies, as the city shines red through a gate knocked off its hinges in the background.
I wonder why I lied to myself that I had never been here and was totally ignorant of this place--in fact, it's just like anywhere else here, only the feeling is stronger and incomprehension deeper.
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