We know it came from the desert.
That’s about it.
It was here before the gambling, the mob, the tourists, the artists…
It might not always have been in its current, physical form.
But, it’s lingered.
In the shadows, behind clouds, flittering inside neon lights.
Some think the shipping containers brought it to surface.
Maybe they triggered memories of a passage taken long ago.
Either way. It’s a giant fucking bug that spits fire.
Flowers decorate the ground in its shadow.
Candles lit, painted saints staring up through the flames.
Offerings to the fire-god of this desert oasis.
The flames reach out and people clap, take pictures.
Is it communicating?
Prophecies of some distant land, sand-swept and long gone?
At night, before the moon sets and the stars are brightest, you can hear the metal creaking.
Did its wing just move?
Did a leg twitch?
Is it looking at you?