Machine

A man sits upon a stool in a dark chasm. The stool being shorter than his legs, his knees bend at a ninety degree angle, feet firmly positioned on the floor. Hunched backed and elderly, the man slowly churns a lever, forcing a gear into motion. Beyond the mans position a machine increasing in complexity as it distances from the man cranks and pops, all from the first gear the man perpetuates. A despaired look fills the mans face, with his left hand firmly glued to his forehead, supporting his head. His solemn look suggests a feeling of remorse, a guilty conscience flooding his thought. Only one motion is summoned from the man, the steady churn of his right arm, continuing the operation of the behemoth machine.
Only one light shone in the chasm, it came from the small table next to the man. An oil fueled lamp let out a beautiful radiance. Many colors streamed from the single lamp, deep blues and bright yellows, some colors provoked powerful emotions. Flashing from the lamp, the colors flowed across the chasm effortlessly, the only distraction from the machine for the man. Beyond view the machine continues, gaining in complexity as far as an eye could see. The machine was building itself, from the initial movements of the mans arm, from his sheer will, the machine continued. Strange outgrowths of mechanical contraptions spurred from the mass of gears and triggers, all dancing to the light of the lamp. Slowly, and begrudgingly, the man continued to push his arm, in a cyclical pattern in order to grow this machine, neither his nor any others.
Time had long since ceased in the chasm, no age gained on the man, only the machine grew. He grew neither older nor younger, only the machine progressed forward. At a point, the machine gained so much complexity as to develop a clone of the man, a machine who churns its own gears to perpetuate another machine, but not separated from the initial mass. This clone churned a simple gear in order to continue the growth of the same machine, the appearance of the contraptions growing from this clone were of a major difference when compared to the mans. A different but connected machine thus continued on from the main stream of the machine. Forever this continued, perpetuated by the man, too ashamed by an unknown thought to stop the churning. Eternity spurred on, a maw of complexity consumed the chasm until the man was surrounded by the machine. On and on, the man continued, head supported by his left arm, back hunched, churning with his right arm...churning...churning...cycling...