rogue soldier

http://fisi.deviantart.com/

"Of what consequence are you now? These people, this world, they are nothing - the universe is power, pure unstoppable power - and I am that force, I am that power." -skeletor


congratulations.
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.

learning the lay low.

I.
we could only pick from packaged food for breakfast or lunch. cheddar combos, bear claws, carrot cake squares so sweet we would get pins in our back teeth up to our eye sockets. dinner time and mom would say 'one hot dog each and get lots of chili on top too' or 'don't get pizza slices they never fill you up and i don't want to hear you crying hungry later'. out with our greasy smells and thick colored waters we'd sit on the lot curb and mom would hand out napkins because we had holes in our heads always leaking. mom was always last but the quickest fed; she'd have the end of a twinkie or the last soggy nacho licking the last bit of cheese from the plastic tray. our scraps alone would satisfy, she chewed 'i have to keep my strength up'.

II.
we could only watch her breathe while making no attempt to save her. it never mattered where she landed: corner of a step, under the kitchen table, head stop at the door stop. as long as she didn't move a muscle. as long as he was satisfied she wasn't coming back for more of the ol one two punch. we would lean our heads together quiet, fake unaware and wait. come to think of it he never gave us anything much except the odd visual of mom crumpled in various degrees of consciousness about our home. there are many ways to skin a cat, he'd say and demand we produce our completed homework. mom had moments of lights out. mom was never one to take rest for granted what with all the corners, floorboards, and ceiling fans insisting on violence.

III.
eventually mom stopped asking for our laundry or our meal trash or our feelings. her tone was never solid so we weren't particularly surprised when she began whispering lies about the niceness of cops and faith in tides. 'you have to learn to fend for yourself' she began hissing in the moments she used to say, 'don't worry, i've got it'. we began to dream of finding tit for tat. we began to dream of finding unconditional hate. we didn't give a passing thought to knick knack caddies or perfect ramen presentation or books about darwin. we were stuck on tyranny, how obedience is feigned.  we never understood why the sun would always rise. we never understood that prayer was for knees and hands and heads bowed while love was just for the parts clothes could cover.  union of any sort was a struggle we could not occupy, not together. we could only grow so far beyond her until our growing stopped before him and we were meant to someway self suffice.