Well, I've just been getting things done!! Love it when I do that.
So, here's a sci-fi-rips-in-the-universe-kind-of-like-Interstellar short story.
Kudos to my sister for the AU idea!!
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The factory was abuzz. It was the peak of production time, or in some cases, destruction time. Or was it remodeling time? The factory supposed it was all three.
The days slid by on the conveyor belt. The factory produced days. It was a simple process of creating mass and energy from nothing, combining the two elements, and then compressing them until they turned into seconds. Harder and longer compression would produce minutes, then hours, and so on till the factory produced a day.
It had a mind, it supposed--after all, how else would it be able to tell what to do, how to do it, and what to think about the production? It didn’t care to think about why it was producing, deconstructing, and reusing the days. It did, however, wonder what happened to them after they left the factory.
It was a simple factory, although it was not a building. Instead, it was a sort of rift in the space-time continuum, something of a fourth dimension. The factory didn’t know this, of course. It just existed to make days.
The days were created in one section (although the factory couldn’t describe this section) and then traveled down a conveyor belt (although the factory didn’t know this is what it was called). They then were pushed out a flap and into the third dimension. Already-used days came in on a conveyor belt and were compressed until they turned back into hours and minutes. The factory cleared the time of all the activities that had happened within them, and then they could be reused. Due to some miracle of science, the activities contained in the time were not erased from the memories of the people who had lived them. Unless, of course, you counted the reality where everyone lived the exact same day over and over again (but the factory didn’t know that).
Many days and years had to be produced for each alternate reality, so the factory never slept. It was always busy working. It never questioned the process, or where the days went after production. It did, however, savor the memories and activities of the used days. It had a special rip in the fourth dimension where it put its favorites. Duplicating them was easy--in fact, the factory knew somewhere in the back of its mind that if it wanted to, it could really do anything. But it was content making the minutes, hours, and days, and didn’t want change.
The peak of production, deconstruction, and remodeling time was every twenty-four hours or so. The factory didn’t know this, but could tell there were fluctuations every so often. It gathered its favorite memories and activities from the days that came in. There was one that practically seeped happiness--a man proposing to his girlfriend. If a factory could smile, it would have smiled, watching the memory on repeat so it could join in the elation. Another activity it collected was one of a little girl, her leg in a cast, welcoming a new puppy into her arms. The puppy slobbered all over her, licking her face. She didn’t care, and squeezed it tight.
The factory also noted the sad activities. A man, married and with four daughters, diagnosed with a terminal disease. The tears of his family as they heard the news. The factory tucked that one away where the rest of the mournful memories went. There was also a scene where an old woman peacefully slipped into eternal sleep, surrounded by her family. Knowing that this one wasn’t very sad, the factory tucked it away in its stash, feeling the sadness of the family but encouraged by the fact that the old woman was currently being reborn in another reality. Another sad scene was that of a teenage girl, the weight of depression heavy on her shoulders, pouring out her heart onto a page as she created beautifully broken art. The factory wished it could talk to these people especially. If it could, it would tell them of its important discovery.
While collecting all these precious memories and activities of the days, the factory had seen something very profound. Life outside, it supposed (though didn’t want to go there), was about a balance. For each sad memory that traveled through, there was a happy one. In each life there were ups and downs, highs and lows. For every death, there was a birth. For every fall, there was a rise. Every terrible situation turned out okay, and if it didn’t, there were small mercies in every day that people appreciated. In fact, the factory noticed, those who went through extreme trials often came out of them loving the little things in life even more.
This discovery pleased the factory. It kept producing, deconstructing, and remodeling days, stashing the memories it loved most and feeling very proud of the people who lived outside it.
---------Isn't it cool???
I loved writing without dialogue! It's so intriguing! Kinda wanna do it more!
Comment what you think!
~~Zoë Wingfeather
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