Bonecruncher abhors all forms of meat. She peels it away,
and heads straight for the skeleton. The excess fat and
blood that drip from her talons is scooped up by the
Hystericals, and sucked up through their porous fangs. And
then, nothing is left of the devils but the crack, snapple
and pop of Bonecruncher's feast. I don't if it's true that
devils are born when victims scream, but I can testify to
their demise. Pulverized, powder to replenish the fields and
grow corn. I hear her teeth grinding through my sleep, as my
own teeth rattle.

I finished my Pepsi, and rattled the ice. I don't read the
papers, but I heard that war is coming our way. I asked for
the check, and then went to the bathroom and slit my wrists
with an ancient bone. I stole it from the British Museum,
from an exhibit of some old cult in Mesopotamia or Babylonia
or whatever. Anyway, I'm dead now. Actually, I don't think
I've ever been alive. I didn't scream, but still did devils
come forth. Amen! Amen! My tongue red, the ivory gates
white, her venom blue.