The Boy And The Machine

Once upon a time, there was a Boy. He was a smart, curious boy, and as with most young children, there was little that could interest him more than being excluded from something. It was for this reason that he would endlessly wonder about the Door.

The Door was a magical thing to him. It stood tall, and all day long the Adults would go in through the Door, and then come back out, very business-like, very brusque, dressed in sharp suits and in quite a rush. And oh, the Boy wondered what was kept on the other side of the Door, for he could sometimes hear sounds coming through the Wall in which it sat: sounds of clicking and whirring and whistling and chimes, sounds of great gears grinding and pipes knocking and things rumbling. The Boy sat, and he imagined the Machine that must be on the other side, and what workings it must create.

After some time, the Boy left to learn and have experiences and grow, as Boys must. The Boy learned many things (too many to discuss here), and over time he had experiences (too many to discuss here), and the Boy grew into a Man, and his curiosity remained, and he returned to the Door.

Finally, the day came that he could enter. He was an Adult.

The Door opens slowly.

And on the other side, he sees a Machine. A colossal edifice comprised of gears and pipes and pulleys and much more. It is impressive to behold. But he notices that it is incomplete, with some pieces on the ground and some gears connected to nothing, pipes trailing off to nowhere, metal and wires and beams and rails askew, disconnected, unfinished. The Machine sits in silence, motionless.

On the ground in front of the Machine lay, in great sheets, Blueprints: complex papers, full of intricate lines that go here and there, connecting and routing and rerouting, spelling the plans for the machine. There are some empty spaces in the Blueprints, odd gaps, and there are also footprints. There are footprints on them.

He looks around and notices there are many Adults here, and they are making sounds. There is a Man hitting a stick against the machine, making a thump thump sound, and another loudly clicking his tongue. A Woman is nearby, whistling, up and down, up and down. Next to her is another Woman with some tube that has water in it, and she tips it this way and it goes whoosh and then she turns it back around and it goes whoosh again. There is quite a clamor, and there are many Adults all around, most helping with the noise, and some just looking thoughtful and nodding in critical approval.

As he sees all of this, a Man with a Clipboard walks up, looking down thoughtfully at his clipboard before finally looking up.

“Ah,” The Man with a Clipboard says, “Glad you’re here. You’re on kazoo.”