“EAT,” it said, so I ate, stabbing the chunks with bent prongs, then pulverizing them with black molars. It watched, rapt, face a saddlebag, wide chin and sucked eyes. “MORE,” it said, so I ate more, sweating blood sweat, urine pants and broken toes. LAUGHTER, a vibrating darkness, sticky. I started to choke. It batted the chair away, shuffled to the wall, sluggish, heavy boots like cinderblocks. Maw opened like hydraulics, then jagged teeth buzzed into brick. Red dust and shrapnel. Shackles chewed my wrists, face filling purple. The wall crumbled like a sheet from a clothes line. Daylight, blue, home. It turned, “SWALLOW,” so I swallowed, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Through the hole, yellow dandelions were batted by a stiff breeze. “EAT MORE,” it said, so I buried the fork into the soft folds of my throat, full.