59) We waited obediently all night long, resigned to the designed enmity of the other, and witnessing, in the bone pale moonlight, the train of emanations still dissipating skyward from every breath of us. I could not see mine but I know I am full of death too. I could not think faster than the souls pouring forth. The insects are almost funny. We stamp our feet in amusement at the brace or bank of flies, silverfish, the mounds of cockroach we exhale. But then a stream of people are breathed and we ripen to quiet. Oh, the slave, the subject, endures what they must. Yet we know nothing else. We are not on circles of the living. We are creations sans difference. Singularities. Original. Well, four originals, no, four copies, we repeat indifferently the other. N,S,E, and W, our masters have no imagination. We creatures are the same. But for our eyes. The servant of the West, they are cold blue. East has flakes of yellow drifting in white emptiness. South blinks, but I believe its are violet. And mine? I am unable to remember, say or ask. Why the variation? A new thought. A dead end multiplies reflections of where it all went wrong. Finally, if eyes are adornments from other gods, they did not deign to dwell among us tonight.
Morning. Out of nowhere, emerging from shimmers of turbulence, like the aura of a migraine, the cardinal points appear just behind each of their creatures. Again, like their creations, N,S,E, and W, they are all the same. They are repetitions, too, uniformly shrouded. I feel Dr. Creep behind me. He places a hand on the obsidian crust of my shoulder. All the Doctors do the same to theirs. We creatures steel for the fight.
Dr. Creep says, 'In your backpack are stones. Take them out.' I do. As do my enemies, at the behest of their gods. I hold the lot of them in one hand, ready to hurl and destroy. Dr. Creep, North, says, 'Throw them gently in the middle.' We all do. All of the stones fly through the air landing together on a simple arc to the ground. That's it? Wait.... The air ripples. The ground shudders. Clouds embrace. In moments there appear children, hundreds of them, sprouting from the earth. They stretch or cry, claw at the blue sky, hitch their mourning, pirouette, fall back down or stumble. Children. In halved moments they recognize kin, they separate, run to their respective cardinal point. Dr. Creep is surrounded by his own, as are the others of his kind. The children pay no attention to me, they are too full of the joy of being reunited with a father absent millennia. Much gleeful shouting and happiness. We creatures glance at each other. This is it? This is our war?
Dr. Creep, whose visage I still cannot reckon, says, 'We wanted only our children back. You shall never see me again. You are free to live the life of a mortal, your reward.'
And in the time it takes for the time it takes, he releases me from bondage. The noose of eternity is loosened. I sense my body change, to diminish, to freshen to flesh. What is this?
Dr. Creep spirits away upon the North wind, teeming brood dissolved and airborne in tow. A residue of laughter lingers as they vanish.
So follow the balance of kinder and gods from the other abject stands. We creatures are free.

Silence. The four of us, we monsters, are amazed. Release, such as we've never know, spreads across our faces. We feel the wind for the first time. The sun beats playfully upon our heads. My feet spontaneously blister. Hunger prowls. Thirsty us.
Still we gasp as animals rush the void we've made. No more death, please. Life nears, but does not die. Cattle descend the hillsides, eagles bank above, coyotes resume their howling ways. Deer emerge from the brush to drink at the streams of their ancestors. And nothing dies. We no longer can kill near or far. Our intention is blank. We monsters wander off, thankfully lost in the world of the living. East's servant goes south. West's wanders north. South's spins in place for a change. I wonder what is in the west.
After erratica in step, each deviation from north savored, I come upon a field of horses mingling among a dump of vehicles. I cringe, hunker down, still chained to the habit of death. But they are curious, the horses. They approach my fetid self behind a wreck. My eyes are tightly closed when I feel hot breath down my back. I am found out. It is not Dr. Creep. He is gone forever. It is a horse. I stand. And for the first time in my stupid existence I touch without killing. So soft is the mane. How firm the wither. I bury my ugly face in its neck. Smells I've never known swamp me. I dare feel happiness.
But then a whinning truck disturbs. The horses drift away. The truck approaches. Again, I hide, inside junk. The truck comes to a stop near me. A uniformed man steps out. He looks right and left. I watch him in fear. He does not die. I am emboldened to know about his kind. Though I cannot speak I am sure he will embrace me as one of his own. So I climb out of my junked steel. He sees me. I take a few steps toward him, as friendly as I can mimic. He smashes me with a flashlight, I think it was. I black out, like a man.