Atonement Century Machinery, (Asymmetric Symptoms)

Fortunato Salazar

Naujok's nose will not give a lucky winner and therefore is likely to be uncomfortable. But then we fly in 216 people (217 if you count 109) and begin again in the same advantageous position: "housecleaning without bias." I'm returning to the country of the descendants of kissing...what if I'm still alive and this is the last moment of an intense Day 1a and Day 1b?

I attack from the left side; sleeping next to me is Anastasia pretending to be asleep but in truth pondering fictional Pride and the squeaky wheel. 306 people started this morning, 1211 people stayed. Tomorrow we'll rest slowly. Everyone says, "Time clocks, please return to the floor." But it's still Day 1a! I tan tan cute Ana. We're here and I regret the morning sickness. Nah I think it's beautiful.

Princess Mary is the virgin beauty precious tan!
Princess Mary is the virgin beauty precious tan!
Princess Mary is the virgin beauty precious tan!
Princess Mary is the virgin beauty precious tan!

At least 15 have been consuming chicken wings, 9 say "Chicken says thank you!" What is paving the way for what? The twists and turns of the original resupply stratagem threaten the collapse of the theory expounded by Onraingemudezaina in her snowball fight with her brother Besutohantabirudosoro. Heavy topic, but born in the same moment as corn, wheat, shrimp and double glazing. What I fear most are the plaintive sounds of the next two and half hours. They are also what I largely pour into my ear with confidence.

I give away a cigarette and am thrown to the floor: it's such a gentle way, really, of getting some fresh air. Still not using the hot-water bottle of the cold-blooded person I've become. I also have a slow mobile now too late to make a purple stole, now that winter is coming, 731 plant deaths, 100 units of the ability to throw a grenade not involved in the explosion: I am a vast area but you come first and are free to walk anywhere within the spacious grounds.

The greatest problem that is neither staid nor old bleached is taking every step possible to save the 64 spring plowing patients who challenged for the well (17 wore bracelets). I consult with Shutandarutebekekonefushutenmamanfube types. They tell me that we will soon seduce the foot of dusky red-stained verandas. They speak of "asymmetric symptoms" and "unidentified low vibration noise." What do you think will last, they ask me. We order, to go, white mink moths and spontaneously sing the national anthem, two of us do anyway, a golden duo storm.

To strategize while Anastasia is pretending to be asleep is like looking at a black and white photograph depicting disheveled blondes living on the street after 15 years (adjusted average) of working in government agencies. It is like a life devoted to the suppression of any thought remotely connected to dry cleaning. It is like a lively aluminum foil roll seemingly issuing small talk but in fact etching itself deep into the psyche of its guardian deities. Why don't you try this crossbow while you're at it, so I can get a low-cost version?

In cooperation with each other and rival villages we peck for food, dressed in good comfort kit configurations requisitioned from Chile. I'm supportive of the children who will (or can't) stop training. Unagitated and reliable, they deserve to be read an Aesop fable every night in their bathwater tinged green from damaged cabbage. They must somehow feel wrong things, but are capable of grasping the distinction between barehanded combat and polekilling mode. In the beginning they all complain of toothache, later they gripe about perversions of sacrosanct romantic comedies...a natural consequence of being stalked by exercise and screaming and the newness of the sensation of undergoing splattering by steroid-tainted bodily fluids. In my speeches to them I quote from the epigrams of the late Princess Seputtetto (932 confirmed, another 9004 awaiting confirmation): "Others are not related to us, no matter how much they tell us we're a hard question to answer overall." I want to protect the life of the flesh as much as I want to protect the hand of the fine stationery I keep hidden in a gap in the lid of the fence.

I should not be prohibited tears. I comb cotton (is this the 63 or 64th consecutive afternoon of combing cotton while Anastasia pretends to sleep?) and the fine comb sings on the humming cotton. We remind ourselves, If you can enter the low-loading cage, reload. We worry about fatigue and the soft then eat their candle trimmings. Let me help you out from under there. Even I want to come looking for what you need to experiment upon, Princess Ginger.

Other Atonement Century Machineries can be found in the March and April archives of the Spork Press weekly fiction series