(1 of 1. Originally posted on November 17, 2023 for the prompt “Machinefield Park.”)
Clarisse wished she could be forgotten, like the collection of machines rotting in the field behind her uncle’s house. To be part of that long-dead world, before ‘leisure’ became a bad word associated with the ‘evil rich.’ In school they taught her that before the revolution, only the rich had enjoyed life. But now nobody enjoyed life, so it didn’t seem like improvement. The war had destroyed ninety percent of industry, and much that survived the war was abandoned as ‘frivolous entertainment from the era of wasteful opulence.’
Clarisse’s only escape from labor on the community farm was to slip out at night into the machine field. At first she’d wandered among the corpses of ancient machines, imagining what each might do. Then she’d found one that looked like a small, detached room. It had several glass panels on the outside, with strange patterns under the glass, like empty display cases. The inside held only a cushioned seat, and an odd shelf on the opposite wall that slanted down at a forty-five-degree angle. A sliding door, the only obvious moving part, opened and closed easily by hand. It made a perfect spot to sit each night and relax, to let her mind wander, imagining herself in other times and places.
Last night she had brought a rag and washed the outside, clearing years of dirt. A full moon glinted off the newly-clean glass. Clarisse examined the panels, but found no switches or buttons, no way to open them. Soon she gave up looking, and stepped inside to indulge in her nightly daydreams. As soon as she entered, a warm glow lit the ceiling panel. She squeaked in shock, glancing around, searching for whoever turned on the light. And to make sure nobody had heard her. Nothing moved. She stepped out of the machine, and the light turned off. Back in, on again. After a few minutes of wondering how it worked, the move obvious question occurred to her. How does it suddenly have power?
Further experimentation resulted in nothing beyond the light switching on and off. Clarisse decided maybe this could be helpful. She could close herself in without needing to burn her candle. Her gut warned that closing herself in an unknown machine could be dangerous, but the thrill of discovery outweighed the warning. She closed the door, and sat.
The shelf lit up. Words appeared on it. They didn’t teach reading in school any more, so she could make nothing of it.
“Please make a selection.”
Clarisse squeaked again at the strange voice that emanated from the glowing shelf. “… what? Who’s there?”
“Please make a selection, or say ‘random.’”
“Random what?”
“Random selection initiated.” The words on the screen shifted.
It’s the machine talking to me. Clarisse sat back, nervous and excited. Is this some ancient form of entertainment?
“Chapter one. It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed…”
