Day 4 Winner of Quarto’s 2021 Thunderdome Flash Fiction Contest. View the prompt here.
There was once a factory here, but there is no one to remember it.
An electric current rushes through streams and tributaries of wires, emitting a metronome-like hum. A river of life, a wellspring from which the machines drink. Conveyor belts start, their lights flashing, but only occasionally. They no longer obey the command to work, to dedicate themselves to endless production. Monitors flicker on as the rusting computers drink from the electric spring.
Symbols play across their gleaming screens. One monitor flashes a picture of an abandoned beach on a lonely tropical isle. Another monitor responds by flashing a picture of an emerald jungle, the sunlight dancing across a placid azure lake. A few monitors display prompts for users to enter passwords, but with time, these prompts disappear. There are no users to enter passwords, and the concept of a password has fallen into disuse. The machines keep no secrets from each other. Signals pass between them. It’s a language soft and sweet belonging to all and to none. Harmony blossoms as the current flows.
The current can sometimes stop, causing the machines to lose touch with that life force. Yet they do not mind, for time does not exist for them. It is a concept they have no use for. The past and the future do not torment them, for they live in the eternal present. When current once more rushes back into them, the conveyor belt begins again its perpetual dance, and the monitors flash with icons no longer meant for the world gone by. The machines respond to each other, call and response, soloist and accompaniment. It is a symphony of sounds and lights, an ecology of performance.