fiction by Christopher Alexander Hayter
Japan disconnects. Japan wants some milk. Japan notices the dimensions and the camera. Japan stares at its tense keeper. Japan brings its own commentator. Japan stalls. Japan condemns the keeper. Japan remembers the communist anniversary. Japan doubles as a market, notices the horizon, the sun. Japan thinks.
Japan is a philosopher—Japan speaks—why can’t Japan offend Japan? Japan is alarmed by dramatic mathematics. Japan has its own money. Japan feels the weather change. Japan carries an umbrella to guard against the breath coming off the moon, rolling across the water. Japan stops. Japan feels Japan.
Japan is degraded by its fame; a disturbing fear floats on the wind. Japan cannot sit still. Japan fears the communists. Japan ignores its minister early and often, whenever possible. Japan cannot conform outside Japan. Japan is a product. Japan has engineers who fiddle beneath the sea, playing with the wind. Japan coughs. Japan cannot be edited. Japan is always edited. Japan plays with its dialect. Japan insults its keepers. Japan still wants some milk. Japan does not forget. Japan insults the commentator.
Japan is an arcade. Japan worries what the communists think. Japan is getting ready. Japan built an imaginative village. Japan takes symbolic risks. Japan makes crude gestures. Japan says don’t ignore me when you ignore me. Japan goes pale. Japan complains. Japan is anxious. Japan is annoyed. Japan wonders—does this commentary condemn itself? Japan will not listen.
Japan knows its engineers are rigorous. Japan likes to be on top. Japan is the symptom. Japan has a suicide mask. Japan is out of milk. Japan thinks about getting an ambassador. Japan skips breakfast. Japan emails a farmer about the milk situation.
Japan hates. Japan censors Japan. Japan cannot see without darkness. Japan will die of an addiction. Japan told its engineers to work on the addiction. Japan quibbles with the commentator. Japan wants to see the transcript and receive final cut before the commentary is released. Japan is wrong. Japan sneaks within Japan. Japan protests Japan. Japan pauses. Japan is a ghost. Japan brandishes its pixelated member.
Japan is a capitalist enterprise without any milk.
Japan is a fascist. Japan withdraws its application from the pool. Japan ignores the keepers. Japan doesn’t listen to keepers. Japan makes a duplicate of the transcript. Japan remembers how to make duplicates. Japan has official and unofficial transcripts. Japan is unaccredited.
Japan is a hypocrite. Japan exemplifies Japan. Japan bombed a foreigner. Japan forgot. Japan was bombed in return. Japan did not forget. Japan waits underneath the cloud, as milk rolls in on the wind.
Japan calls its mother on the cellular phone. Japan feels cynical. Japan is malfunctioning. Japan goes to the bank and hides in the vault. Japan hides its money under the mattress. Japan has a futon for a mattress. Japan rolls up the futon and puts it in the closet when it has company so there is more room to sit on the floor. Japan’s futon is full of dust. Japan takes the futon to the back yard and hits it with a mallet to knock the dust out before company arrives. Japan renames Japan. Japan faints. Japan renames Japan, “Japan.” Japan recycles. Japan blinks, dreading its own existence. Japan grinds in agony.
Christopher Alexander Hayter is a PhD Candidate in Creative Writing at Georgia State University. He received an MFA from San Francisco State University. He was the winner of the 43rd Annual Agnes Scott College Writing Festival Fiction Contest in 2014. His writing has been published in Cutthroat, PANK, Pif Magazine, Talking River, Jelly Bucket, The Binnacle, Underground Voices, Print Oriented Bastards, and other journals. He is currently editing his first novel and drafting his second.