Set against an orange horizon, atop a blue lake and in the center of the frame lies a spinning, wooden temple, each independent circular layer spinning on its own, in descending size as the apparatus boat got closer and closer to piercing smokey thunderclouds. From out of the darkness, a single drummer sounds his echoing, solid beat. Suddenly, thousands of blue, phosphorescent cats emerge from within the temple walls. Standing upright, they walked to the very edges of their platforms. They conjoin hands, and from their mouths (which were taped shut) they begin to sing in loud, soul-shattering chorus, the words to ancient memory. The levels are squeezed into view, and the rows of felines are assembly-lined across the field of vision. Soon the image of the cats is engraved into the sky.
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