The Eternal Struggle Three black cats share one throat. One wants silence so deep it forgets how to scream. One craves noise loud enough to split the skull open. One waits—patient, smiling with too many teeth—for both to bleed out. They never win. They only take turns wearing the corpse. Every heartbeat is a knife-fight in the dark. Every breath tastes like the last one’s blood. And the body keeps walking anyway, purring something that might be a prayer or might just be one of them laughing while the other two choke.