you have made it to the point in the story where the machine up heaves its own function.
how magical it is to see that machine reconfigure, excuse the hiccups, and realign with the ever malicious demand of insurgency.
god bless revolt.
my god repress evolution of our skin, pray never comes the day my god mandates recognition of the sin.
the metal appeared strict but such intensity, such heat. we find the machine newly aligned. fresh oil fresh circuitry. indeed we have arrived.
all systems go. women and children first. we do still honor custom, at least till someone writes the afterword.
but why worry with what we won't be around to read, right?
so then, form a single file line. hold the coattail of the mary ahead of you if feeling precarious.
it is normal, feelings, but force swallow. no rushed exits, please.
the machine will separate you when it finds your time to shine.
do not look forward or read ahead. the end is intentionally left open, to test your pandora complex.
do not want for a certain ending or root a favored machinist. we must let function process function. we must let the martyrs deal martyrs. and in doing nothing be a part of something wholly.
you should be so proud.