Alors, Et Toi? is a quarterly magazine of the arts, digitally published on the world wide web.
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The Un-useful Machine
by Costa Skrepetos
“So what does it do, exactly?" I asked the salesman directly. He looked at me and laughed.
“Did I hear you correctly? What does it do? What does it do?” He threw his hands up “If only you knew!”
He held the contraption at arms’ length.
“And if you buy one before the tenth, I’ll give you some aspirin, double strength, it will help with the swelling some people experience when the machine is first used. But don’t worry! It will adapt to your needs, you’ll almost never be bruised!”
The small machine glistened in the fluorescent light. Dry but oily; smooth but roughly hewn out of plastic rocks, from a distant moon. No buttons or vents or dials or sounds. Just a blob that was found on distant grounds. All over the world they fell from the sky; gathered by salesmen and corporations and sold to the public at government funded stations.
“It might replace the hair on your head. Maybe replace needles and thread, and keep this quiet, under your hat: One day it may raise the dead!”
Others were buying the thing without question. The salesman shifted back and forth, obviously alarmed at my inaction.
“You have read the emails, have you not?” Asked the increasingly annoying little snot.
“It will make it bigger, make you last longer, Increase your drive, you’ll be a star! With this machine, there’s no end to success. In business or pleasure, you’ll make friends, be the best, at whatever you do. How can you refuse? You’ll be wealthy, your debts disappear! C’mon, man!” He finally gasped, “Just take it, for free! You know you want it.”
People shuffled passed the glistening windows. Each holding a machine hard against their nose; as though looking for things that couldn’t be there. An end to torment? Just a bit less despair?
“This machine doesn’t work,” I said to the man, grabbing it from his sweating hand, smashing it onto the ground. The rest of the shoppers gathered around.
We stared at its innards, naked to us, and they wondered at last: Why had they fussed, over the Un-useful Machine? It was empty, bare, completely devoid of anything useful inside its shell! It had promised us Heaven, but it couldn’t even deliver Hell!
And so, the Un-useful Machines continue to fall. But they’re cared for by no-one at all.
They just lay where they land on the Earth’s crust. We simply watch and let them turn to dust.
About The Author
Costa Skrepetos lives in Tasmania - that's as far south of Australia one can travel before reaching Antarctica. The hours not spent working or playing with his children are used for daydreaming, and sometimes writing.