The machine speaks

It speaks not in words or in sounds, but in effects. It functions, and this in effect allows other things to function. It rumbles, and others rumble with it. It continues, and others continue.

It is an awesome, powerful machine.

It is also a large machine. Physically, it towers over the town built around it, casting its shadow far beyond its limits. Socially, it is the central hub, as well as economically. It towers, it looms, it portends. It is the bringer of riches and of livelihoods. Its machinations are the machinations of the town.

When it roars, it is heard and feared.

It is also an incomprehensible machine. None of the inhabitants truly know how it works, or why. They are, however, very aware that it works, and that it works very well. And that they, through hard yet simple work, can keep it working. They work it, it works them, and in the end it all works out.

What it does? They do not know. But they do know that it is valuable enough to sell, and this is enough. It is a working arrangement.

The machine speaks. It is clear what it wants: to continue.

There is much work to be done.

Work turned into labour. Labour turned into law. Law turned into something resembling, but not quite being, love. The town revered, worked and continued. There were no reason not to, and all the reasons in the world to continue. It was the life they knew.

The machine knew. It spoke.

Then, it didn’t.

Or, rather, the world did. It said it had quite enough of what the machine did, and that it did not need any more of it. That it had, in fact, moved on, worked out some other arrangement. Something that did not involve machine parts.

The machine spoke. Then it didn’t. Then, it simply loomed. It loomed with power, history and effects that should be there, but weren’t.

It remained, but the town didn’t.

It speaks volumes.

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