“Brandy, what have you done?” my mother cries.

            “I… blew them away,” my sister answers tenderly, though her voice is still a hearty echo in my ears. Almost painfully loud. She’s still clutching her breast, and though they’re far away, Brandy is tall and prominent enough in her mass that I can see what she’s doing.      

            She’s tweaking her left nipple, absent-mindedly, with her fingertips. Massaging the heft of her breast and weighing it in her palm.

            It’s also at this moment I take notice for the first time how their bodies have developed noticeable curves. Before, well, not to be blunt, but my mother and sister aren’t exactly the most rounded of women. To be generous, they were like flat boards. But now, their breasts are pert and perky; their asses hang out in a shelf of glute muscle and jiggling flesh. Their biologies have changed, as well, at the genetic level, it seems. Not that I can’t complain; I’ve always found my mother and especially my sister beautiful, sexy even, but it’s not until now I can stare at them and realize I’m, for better or worse, lusting over their monstrous mile-size bodies.

            “Yes you did, dear,” my mother answers Brandy. “It was… impressive, what you did, but what did it accomplish?” She sounds less horrified than she did at first; in fact, she sounds genuinely awed to have watched her beautiful daughter spray entire neighborhoods across the ecosystem with a simple puff of air from her lungs.

            My mother and sister, risen back to their full mile-high height, take a step toward one another. I feel the ground rumble beneath them. They’re creating seismic activity in the city merely by walking. Down below, in one of the buildings, I hear panes of glass shatter from the vibration.

            “I just had to see. If it was real,” Brandy admits.

            “And what do you think now?” my mother asks.

            “I don’t know,” she breathes, then continues speaking, “I don’t know if… if I care whether or not it’s real.”

            “Why is that?”

            “Because that… what I just did… felt… amazing,” Brandy whispers. “And I have to do something like it again, because…”

            “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, dear,” my ravishing mother says. Her own hands have traveled up to her breasts, her fingers careening over the staggering dunes of her naked tits. She, too, teases her nipples, the dark-birch areolas rising like skyscraper tips, and then her hand descends below between her legs, to her labia. While still staring straight at my giant sister with the same conviction, she slides her fingers into her cunt and begins to flex her hand.

            I’m standing on this rooftop, watching my mile-tall mother masturbate with hardly a second thought, after my sister murdered probably three hundred people by blowing through the valley of the streets and suburban roads. And by the glint in their dark eyes, I can tell they’re going to do something else now. Something worse.

            Both of them bend down now, their feet stretching back for half a mile and wiping out another three neighborhoods in the process, entire houses and road chunks containing city blocks clenched between their toes. But neither seems to notice.

            Instead, their attentions have become focused on the space ahead of them. Where the suburbs give way to the outskirts of town, surrounded by small businesses, gas stations, and grocery stores, both Brandy and Nicole have lowered themselves toward the ground for closer examination.

            I use my phone to telescope as close as I can to the scene so far away. Though difficult to make out, I can tell the streets have flooded with people. Throngs of them have sprinted out into the roads for a real-life look at the gorgeous mile-high African American mother and daughter, looking like a pair of naked, wingless angels. At least, angels may be the first image in the minds of the people for the first instant, just before my mother and sister open their mouths.

            “Come here, little people!” Brandy sings.

            What happens next, I can hardly bear to see but through fingers caged over my face. I watch Brandy, first, stretch her long, pink tongue out from her jaws and flatten it to the street. She rakes her rubbery muscle up an entire block, bulldozing through literal dozens upon dozens of screaming people who make their best attempt to run, but are no match for the oncoming calamity of my sister’s tongue. Those that aren’t crushed in the mayhem and secondary weapon of her low-hanging chin are instead swept up on the sticky, wide platform of her tongue. She must have hundreds of people spilling into her mouth by the time she finally slurps her tongue back inside, wiping her mouth of a few remaining unlucky civilians who became glued to her lips.

            “Mmmmm… oh, Mom!” Brandy moans with satisfied delight, her mouth still full of screaming people. “You have to taste them!”

            “Don’t mind if I do,” Nicole says with a wink.

            My mother follows suit. Her path is different, though, as she instead uses her tongue to begin plowing through the buildings. They come down as easily as small towers of stacked rice, and indeed, the low buildings can’t be much stronger to my mother’s mighty tongue than little pieces of sushi. Nicole squares her 1500-foot-wide shoulders and begins using her tongue to shove through the tops of buildings, collecting rubble and human beings along the way. Each time, she raises her head back up like an anteater and uses her tongue to scoop more helpless citizens into her giant jowls.

            I slump back against the doorway leading to the roof, dumbfounded, unable to explain the majesty and horror I’m witnessing. My mother and sister, the kindest people I’ve ever known, who home-cook meals every weekend and remember my birthday each year with a party, just murdered several hundred people by swiping their tongues through the streets, even when they admit they’re not sure whether this is real or not.