Automatic v1.0

AUTOMATIC by Brandon Woods

In the meadow under a mountain there is a small metal box. Its smooth cold walls are surrounded by dandelions that grow bright yellow over the top. The mountains beyond are very old and worn. They form a shallow valley where the box lies nestled in a tuffet of green weeds and grasses. It has been ages since the mountains were tall and jagged. Then, there was no box, nor a meadow, but a deep valley. In this valley a river flowed furiously, cutting a wicked path through the rock. Powerful natural forces shaped the land, to eventually erode the surface into a calm, peaceful habitat. Before the box, animals hunted each other for food. Living meant killing. What is now green with life was harsh and uncompromising.
Some small animals roam the vast meadow to search for seeds or berries, but none dare to approach the quiet metal box. The box has sheer cold walls on every side except one. This side has two deep grooves half as high as the box. Next to the grooves is a red knob equal in height. It has notches around its edge that corresponded to marks on the metal. The box is dark grey, not quite black, with vertical streaks or scuffs on its surface from as high as the bottom of the knob, down to its base.
When the sun rises, the mountains cast their shade for a short while. Soon the foothills see the light, and the dandelions turn their heads for the warmth that comes from above. Birds chirp as the morning approaches. All that breathes waits for the light, but two deep slits in the small cold metal box remain dark. They wait for something else that's coming.
A mouse crawls through the thick grass looking for a place to sleep in the dirt. Above, the sky is calm. There are clouds here and there, but none big enough to bring a storm. The mouse finds a satisfying place between the cool earth and warm grass, and dozes. Its dreams float up like the clouds over the mountains, pushed by a gentle breeze. Somewhere far off, leaves rustle in the trees as the air suddenly gusts. The mouse opens its eyes to look for the sound, and decides to leave quickly.
There is no wind the day of the earthquake. No birds sing. No clouds are in the perfectly blue sky. Not one insect moves in the grass. It is as if everything that can move, will not. Then, the grass begins to sway. Dirt underneath ripples like water, tearing up roots. All around the motionless box is a sea of chaos. What had been a mountain overlooking the box, is now a widening pit. The flat meadow turns inside-out, exposing worms and grubs living in the soil. A stiff gale begins to move loose soil away from the box, revealing more of it. Leaves blown from their branches create a storm around the unnatural object. Then, it begins to rain.
Nearby, lies a piece of forged metal regurgitated from the earth. On one end it is dull, glowing like a lightning bug. The opposite end forms two flat prongs, one carved with a circle, the other a triangle. A magnetic force within the box draws the instrument closer. End over end, the object weebles through the mud until its blunt end bumps against the box. Tilting upward, it points toward the gathering darkness.
Lightning spreads across the surface of the clouds. The box and its counterpart remain inert, for but a moment. A quick falsh of electricity dissolves the landscape in white light, followed by the deafening stroke of thunder. The box sinks into the ground, letting the prongs slide into their place in the side. The knob on the box matches the green glow of the key with a red pulse of its own. As the box retracts into the ground, the two objects become one. The rain stops. Breaking thunder rolls off into the distance, and the puddles of water all around become still. It is calm, now.
From the great pit beside the box, where the old mountain once stood, a low rumble begins. Displaced mud and clots of roots push out of the pit. A massive curved shape rises upwards, as wet grass and debris slide down its sides. The knob clicks rhythmically as the mountain ascends again before it. Drizzling rain washes this new object clean of clinging mud. Underneath, a polished enamel surface emerges.
The upper curved structure, shining candy-apple red, slopes down to two large bulkheads at opposing ends. These block shaped flanks have multiple rivets bisecting their form. As the rain washes away more dirt, the gloss white finish of an underbelly is revealed. Below this, still buried underground, are two immense pillars upon which a pedestal supports the massive solid structure. Extending from each bulkhead and attached by an enormous bolt, are segmented cylinders ending in unmistakably clenched fists.
The rain subsides, and sunlight glints through a clean, transparent dome. Two knobs poke out from the glass, alive and burning red. Behind the knobs, tangled wires connect to intricate machinery working with a life of its own.
In a meadow under the mountains, stands a monument to the unstoppable force of nature. It has the unique ability to be aware of its purpose. As the clouds push on over the horizon, two intelligent eyes look on toward destiny.


11/14/02