The Machine- Part 2

He went into the shopping arcade with only one thought in mind: costly. ‘This better be worth a real bunch’, he thought. As he browsed through them, he saw one of them standing all to itself. Not talking to anyone. It only stared at him. Knowing somehow that it was destined to go to his house. Wait…. not Talking to anyone? Was this supposed to be funny? He went close and checked it out. A dark black, it sat, waiting. As his hand made contact, a vision flashed though his head. A face, eyes almost popping out and mouth open, in an unending scream. And then it was gone. For a split second, he thought it was his brother and then the thought was gone. A strange warm sensation, like that of a house on fire, coursed through his veins. This machine was his. It was meant to be. Just like the smell in your shoe. But, he did not choose the machine.

The machine chose him.

***

The machine was delivered the next day. It stood at the corner, dwarfing the little table kept beside it. It almost seemed to throw an air of authority around the room. Ronnie just cast it a glance and that was that. It did not exist for him. For him, only clean clothes existed and his brother, who cleaned them, existed. For his brother, the machine was supposed to be a way out. ‘Tough chance there buddy’, he now thought. The washing machine was not his Nirvana. It was his way into a tampered paradise.
He got up to check the machine.

The machine looked despicable to him, to say the least, what with a black hose and black knobs. He tried to touch it and did too. Only, the feeling that he got was something he had not expected. The machine felt cold. Its surface seemed to be alive. It seemed to pulse with something hidden deep inside. And in the second he made contact, he seemed to feel the machine inside his head. Looking. Groping. Like it could think.

Like it was human.

(to be continued...)