As I backed away, it seemed that I was standing below an upturned mountain hovering about eight feet in the air. The hole above me was a vertical tunnel piercing the highest peak of this mountain. It was so lofty that the roots of the mountain spread past the dross of the clouds above; out of sight.
But what did this mean? Had I come from the hole? Yes, that was right. I had fallen from this gargantuan funnel, but why? I was naked and alone in this meadow, I could tell that much, but it was warm. Even as the tumultuous clouds swirled above, somewhere beyond them, a sun was sending down its warmth.
I looked at myself as much as I could. I was hairless. I thought that perhaps I should have hair, but don’t know where the feeling came from. It may have been a memory except I didn’t have any. I tried to remember, but what should I remember? I had knowledge, for I knew that I should have hair, but I had no memory. It also seemed that I was a man. I laughed. It seemed funny for a moment that my gender was a new discovery. Since I also seemed to be mature, shouldn’t I already know that I was a man? But then, I didn’t really know anything, but what I saw.
A ring of simple monoliths marked the spot which the mountain hovered over. I was standing within this circle. Words were chiselled upon them, but I could not understand the writing.
There was a dirt road near this ring. One way lead into the wood which lined the meadow on all but one side; the other continued through the meadow and went on and on as far as I could see on the clear horizon. I chose the horizon.
For some time I walked along the road. The scenery changed little but the light above the clouds lessened in intensity, and the air cooled. Eventually I could no longer see the wood behind me, and all that remained was meadow in all directions. The dry, dusty path began to weaken my feet; the dirt and tiny pebbles became too much, so I walked on the grass beside.
I felt like sitting down, so I did. I yawned. The light in the clouds had become rather low, and I was becoming weary, so I laid back on the grass with my hands behind my head and went to sleep.

A voice woke me up.
“Morning Sunshine,” it said in a pleasing voice. I opened my eyes and sat up. It was a woman. There was grass-print all over my skin.
She was standing beside me; looking down; a bright smile on her face. Her chocolate brown hair was curly and wild; pinned back loosely with some sort of ornament. As she bent over to extend her hand to me, a wispy strand fell forward down to her freckled nose. I took her hand and let her help me rise to my feet.
I looked at her, and it seemed she waited, allowing me to do so. She wore a long skirt, full of colours. It was not one piece of fabric but many patched together. There was no pattern to it, save for an agreeable sort of juxtaposition. On top she wore a sort of ribbed corset-style piece made from black velvet and subtle white lace. Her neck and ears were adorned with amber. I felt puzzled. How could I know the name of that stone, or the materials which fashioned her bodice? The look of bewilderment must have been obvious, for she took her leave to speak.
“You came yesterday?” She asked; a nod was my response, “Then you must be very confused. My name is Imogen. Do you know yours?”
“I don’t really remember anything.” I said. She smiled sweetly and it was a comforting smile.
“Well, that is to be expected,” she motioned for me to follow her to a small sack, which she had left on the road. “None who have come from the Machine have memories.”
Suddenly many questions came to my mind, but I did not ask them immediately.
“I have a pair of shoes for you. This road is pretty long, and I wish someone had brought me a pair of shoes the first time I walked it!”
“Did you come from the funnel too?” I asked.
“Funnel? Oh, right,” she laughed. She had a pretty laugh. “Yes, I came from the funnel. Three years ago. But all the folk around here call it the Machine.” She paused, waiting for me to put the shoes on. They were made from the fur of an animal: fur on the inside and hide on the outside; same as hers. When I had put them on we began walking in the direction I had been headed.
“Where does this road go?” I asked, “Which way did you come from?”
“This road passes through a village; that’s where I came from; that’s where I live. I’m sorry I didn’t bring you any clothes, but I had no idea if someone would actually come today. I just brought shoes on the off-chance.”
“No, it’s alright,” I said, “You were more than kind to bring shoes.” After a time I spoke again. “Where were you going before you met me?”
“I was going to the Machine. I don’t know why. I like to go there once in a while. I go, and I sit under it and I close my eyes for a while.”
“Why do you do that?”
“It brings me peace. I also come to see if anyone else has dropped out of it!” She seemed excited at the prospect. “And here you are!”
“Why do you have hair and I don’t?” I asked.
“I didn’t have hair either when I came, but it grew pretty quickly. In fact it grows much more quickly than the other people in the village.”
“So, mine will grow too?”
“I should suspect so. I even have hair on my legs!” She lifted the hem of her skirt a little so I could see. Sure enough, her legs were covered by tiny, blond hairs. “All of the men in the village have hair on their legs, but none of the women!” She seemed proud of this.
We didn’t speak again for a little while. We just kept walking. She had a spirited walk full of energy and purpose. I looked at her face. She had large brown eyes that were set slightly further apart than mine, and her eyebrows had a lovely curve that helped her express the joy that was always apparent on her face. Her face was little and round, but not plump - she was slender. Her nose was small and round too, and she had a charming little mouth with full, sensuous lips. She noticed that I was looking at her.
“I’m sorry.” I said.
“No it’s fine. I know how it feels. When most people are born they are very tiny and they can’t speak. Much of the knowledge they learn over time, we are born with as well. The difference is, we have no memory of learning. It’s like we have no experience. Besides,” she giggled, “I looked at you lots while you were asleep! Oh, you’re blushing. Don’t be embarrassed. You’re nice to look at.”
“Thank you.” Now I was a little embarrassed to ask my next question so I was silent for another moment as I cleared my head. “From what you say,” I said finally, “It sounds like most people are not born as I was and as you were.”
“That’s true.”
“So, you’re the only one in your village who came from the Machine?”
“That’s right. And now you, if you’ll stay.”
“I don’t see why not. I like you.” She smiled a lot now, and then she hugged me around me neck. We continued to walk for a long time in silence. I had more questions, but I held them, because I felt that many of the answers would become apparent when we reached the village.
An aching feeling had begun to rise in my stomach. It made me nervous, but Imogen said that it was because I hadn’t eaten yet, and that I was hungry. She said we would reach the village soon and, there, she would prepare some food for me.
“I like to sing,” Imogen said. “How about you?”
“I don’t know.”
“These are the kinds of things you’re going to have to figure out about yourself. You need to know what you like to do, so you can have fun doing it. Everyone in the village has some purpose. They find a way to turn what they love into something that can be of benefit to others.”
“So, you sing?” I asked. This made her laugh.
“Actually I make clothing. Most people make their own clothing, but I have so much fun doing it, that I’ve made a career out of it.”
“I don’t really understand that word.”
“Some people are too busy to make or mend their own clothes or they just like the clothes I make, so they pay me to make theirs for them.”
“Pay?” I asked.
“Yes. They give me these small, metal coins in exchange for the work.” She showed me one of these things that she had in her bag. “These things can be used to trade for things like food and supplies.”
“Okay. I have to get a career, not only to be helpful, but to survive as well.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said cheerfully.
As we walked, I thought about what I could do to be of help to others, but as I had never done anything before, I couldn’t think of anything. After a short time, the village became visible in the distance. Far ahead the ground rose and became a hill which was covered with buildings and roads. It was surrounded by a wall.
“We’re almost there!” Imogen said excitedly.

When we reached the gate, there were two men standing there. They greeted us pleasantly and they knew Imogen by name. Imogen told me later that it was their job to greet anyone who came to the gates.
It was a pretty village, although I had never seen another. The streets were made of stone blocks and the houses were all white, with dark red roofs. People grew flowers and other plants in front of their houses and in boxes that hung in the windows. We walked down the main road until we came to a large square of open street that was lined with little stalls. In the middle of the square there was a fountain where Imogen and I sat down.
“This is the market,” she said. “Once you find your purpose, this is where you can exchange money for food and supplies.”
We had begun to attract a lot of attention. I suppose I must have stood out, since I had no clothes on. People were looking at us and chatting among themselves. Then a woman and a man came up to us and Imogen stood, so I did too.
“Hello,” said the woman. She was short and plump and had a kind face. “Imogen, will you introduce us to your friend?”
“Of course, Betty.” The man remained silent, but he was smiling kindly too. “He came from the Machine,” Imogen looked at me, “This is Betty and Nathan.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” I said and as Nathan extended his hand, I took it. That seemed the right thing to do. He shook my hand briefly, but firmly and then he let go and I sat back down on the edge of the fountain.
“Do you have a name sweetheart?” Betty asked me. I shook my head.
“Betty gave me my name,” Imogen told me. “She said she had read it somewhere, and she thought that it was pretty.” Betty’s cheeks swelled and turned pink as her smile broadened.
“I don’t really know what I ought to be called,” I said.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough,” Betty said confidently.
“Imogen, did you notice he hasn’t been cut?” Nathan was looking at the organ that hung between my legs.
“I did, but you’re going to embarrass him if you talk about that. He’s rather sensitive.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I said.
“When a boy is born in the village we cut the foreskin of his penis off,” Nathan said in a lower voice. The thought of this horrified me, but I didn’t let on.
“Why does this happen?” I asked.
“I’m not really sure, to be honest with you. I guess it’s just tradition, but the reason I brought it up was because Imogen and I disagree about what the Machine does. She thinks that the Machine brings you from somewhere else, and therefore, you may have been born of a woman, but I think you were born of the Machine.” He explained. “Don’t you think that if he was born somewhere else, they would have cut him?” He challenged Imogen.
“Not necessarily,” she answered, “I’ve heard that in some cities that custom is starting to die out.” Nathan didn’t look like he believed her. “Besides, if we weren’t born of a woman, then why do we both have navels?” She seemed pleased with herself for figuring that out.
“I’m not sure about that one,” Nathan admitted.
“I think we’d better find the young man some clothes,” Betty said at once. “It’s going to get a little colder as the leaves begin to change colours.”
“We’re about the same size,” Nathan said, “You could borrow some of mine until you get some of your own.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Imogen intervened, “I’m going to start making some clothes for him tonight. I think I’ll just have him stay at my house until he finds his own place.”
Betty beamed, “You’re such a sweet girl Imogen. I’m so glad you came here,” she touched Imogen’s shoulder fondly. “We’ve got some more things to buy for dinner tonight dear,” she said to Nathan. Then she turned back to me, “If you need anything honey, don’t be afraid to ask, okay?”
“Thank you. You’re very kind,” I said. Nathan waved at us as they walked back to the market.
Imogen’s house was small but it was filled with beautiful things. There were flowers in vases about the house; paintings hanging on the walls, and sculptures and little trinkets and decorations here and there.
“How did you come to live in this house?” I asked.
“When I first came here, Betty let me live with her.” We walked into the large room and she put her bag down on a table. “When Nathan asked Betty to marry her, they needed me to move out of the house. Nathan, and some of the other men who know me, built this house for me next to his and Betty’s. Most men aren’t good at making clothes.” She winked at me as she moved to a cupboard and removed a long, silk robe. “You can wear this for now. I didn’t make it though. There isn’t much silk in the village.” I put it around my shoulders and tied it at the waist. “I’m just going to make us some lunch okay?”
“That would be nice.” As she busied herself in the kitchen, I looked around the room again. It served as a kitchen, a dining area and a living room. The couch in the living area was covered in blankets and pillows, and I sat here while Imogen began to make lunch.
There was a book on a small table beside the couch. The letters were different from the ones on the monoliths back at the machine and I could read them clearly. It was full of ‘sonnets’ and I read a few of them. I thought the words were beautiful and most of them were about someone’s love for another person. I imagined that I had written them for Imogen.
“I think my name will be Sonnet,” I said out loud to Imogen.
“That’s a nice name,” she said. “I like it a lot. I’ve got our lunch ready if you’ll come to the table.”
“I’m hungry!” I said, leaping over the couch.
“I’ve made eggs and…”
“Sausage,” I said. That made her smile.
“You know the words for things like I do. I’ve noticed that. Let’s eat.” As we ate our lunch, Imogen explained to me that the fact that we knew the names for things before people told them to us was one of the reasons she thought that we were not born from the Machine. “I don’t know how we could know all the names of things if we hadn’t learned them through experience, or how we could know anything for that matter. Some of the people in the village think that our knowledge is spiritual, but I disagree. I believe that we had a life before this one. I believe that the Machine makes us forget.”
“That makes sense,” I offered.
“I guess, I thought if another person came, he might remember something.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Maybe I think too much. I should get started on your clothes anyway.” She picked up her plate and fork and put them in the sink even though she had eaten little. “I wonder what colour your hair is going to be,” she said, though it sounded more like she was thinking out loud. “Your eyes are green, so it would be great if you had red hair! Green clothes look good on people with red hair! Oh, but what colours do you like? Sometimes I get carried away.”
“I don’t know…you can decide.”
“Okay. It’ll be fun.”
“Can I go outside for a while? While you get started?”
“Well, I need to take your measurements first, so hang on a second.” She disappeared into another room and came back with a long piece of tape and proceeded to measure the width of my shoulders. She took various measurements, but the measurement of the length of the inside of my legs embarrassed her a little and she asked me to hold the tape for her.
“You can go now,” she said. “You might want to take the robe though. People don’t usually walk around town naked.”
“Thanks Imogen, for everything. I won’t be too long.”
“Alright. I’ll see you later.
I tied the robe around my waist and proceeded down the street. Betty waved to me from a window in her house next door.
The sky dimmed slowly and for a while, there was an opening in the clouds for the sinking sun to peek through. It sent beams of pink and orange light like flowing water all over the clouds. The light trickled down them like a little stream. We had seen a little stream earlier. We had stopped for a drink. I don’t know why I wanted to go walking. I guess I just wanted to explore and see things. I found my way back to the market, and began exploring the various stalls. I counted forty-two.
A large, wooden dais had been set up in the marketplace. There were rows of chairs laid before it and there were several large chests and boxes on top of it.  Four men and a woman were busying themselves about trying to raise a large wooden frame with a curtain. I walked up and watched them as they worked.
“Hey there,” one of the men greeted me as they sat down to take a break on the edge of the platform.
“Hey there,” I repeated.
“I saw you earlier today,” said a second man, “You were with Imogen!”
“Imogen?” Asked the woman. “Then that must mean you’re…”
“I came from the Machine. My name is Sonnet,” I said, finishing her sentence, “May I ask what you are doing?”
“We’re going to be putting on a play later this evening,” answered the first man.
“What’s that?”
“We’re starting in a couple hours,” the woman said, “Why don’t you just come back and see it then?”
“Alright, I’ll talk to Imogen. Maybe she’ll want to see too.”
“Then maybe we’ll see you later. I’m Theresa by the way,” she extended her hand and I took it.

I woke the next morning on Imogen’s couch. After the play we had spent the rest of the evening chatting while she worked on my clothes. I yanked myself up. Imogen was already in the kitchen; her back was turned as she cooked something on her large grill. She wore a pair of overalls and her hair streamed out from beneath an enormous, wide-brimmed hat to which one large flower was pinned to the side.
“Good morning Imogen.”
“Sonnet, you’re up,” she said turning around with a plate of pancakes in one hand. Her breasts were just showing out of the top of her overalls. I thought that maybe she should cover them up for some reason, but I didn’t know why. She saw me looking at them.
“There’s something I’ve noticed about the village people when it comes to nakedness. They’re never naked outside, but they don’t care if you or I do it!”
“Oh?” I could feel my face become warm; I was blushing again.
“Well, you were prancing around naked in the market yesterday, as did I when I first came, and it didn’t faze anyone.”
“Yes it did, they were all staring at me.”
She smiled, “That’s just because they had never seen you before, and they knew you came from the Machine. Anyways, I don’t always like wearing a lot of clothing, I just wear what is comfortable, and no one seems to mind.” She set the plate in the middle of the table beside a bouquet of daises in a large pitcher. “Breakfast is ready,” she said. I went and sat down at the table with her, and served myself a couple pancakes. “I finished your clothes last night,” she said, “After breakfast you can put them on.”
“Thanks.”
“Last night, at the play, Nathan invited us for dinner tonight,” she said. “Okay.”
“Is there anything you want to do today? …Right,” she said with her mouth full of food, “You wouldn’t know.”
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“Well, I thought I might go painting today. I don’t paint often enough, and I think I would like to paint the Machine.”
“How will we get back in time for dinner?”
“If we borrow a horse, it won’t take us that long to get there.”
After breakfast I put on the clothes she had made me. There was a pair of black sleeves that tied together at my chest and back (Imogen helped me with these) and a forest green, velvet vest, with shiny black buttons that went over top. The pants were grey with shiny, black buttons on the codpiece. She had embroidered little, yellow leaves across the shoulders and back of the vest.
“This is amazing!” I said, “You made all of this so quickly! Thank you!”
“I’ll make some more too. You can’t wear the same outfit every day.”
“When I get a career, I’ll pay you back for all of this,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to make them for you.”
Once she had gathered up her things, we walked over to her other neighbour’s house and, after some introductions, he let us borrow his horse. Secretly I was more excited about seeing the horse than going to the Machine. I had already seen the Machine, but not yet a horse.
At first it scared me a little; it was so immense and its eyes seemed intelligent. For some reason I found the thought of a creature of intelligence that couldn’t speak, unnerving, but once I was on the saddle behind Imogen, I was alright. I held my arms tightly around Imogen’s tiny waist as we began to ride out of town, and into the countryside. I waved goodbye to the men standing at the gate, and they waved back.
“We’re not like the other people in the village are we?” I asked suddenly.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I just can’t identify myself with them somehow; I feel like I’m a different animal.”
“I don’t think they would like being called animals,” she mentioned. “It doesn’t bother me; I feel the same way. I’m just warning you: don’t call them animals.”
“So what are we?”
She took some time to answer, “I’ve spent the last three years wondering the very same thing.”
Once we arrived at the Machine, Imogen set up her easel and things. “Can I paint you into the painting?” She asked.
“Sure!”
“All right, why don’t you take off your clothes and go sit on one of the monoliths,” she said with a grand gesture toward the stones.
“Why naked?” I asked, not in protest, just curiosity as I unbuttoned my vest.
“I want to paint you like you were when you fell from the machine. I want to remake that scene.”
“Okay, can you untie the sleeves for me?”
She came over from behind her easel and untied the strings. “You can read while I paint,” she said, “I brought some books for you.”
“Okay.” I took off my pants and sat down with the sonnet book after trying all of the monoliths to find the most comfortable one. I actually did like being naked more than clothed. Imogen was right about that, but I suppose if all the villagers wore clothes all the time it would make us stand out too much it we went around naked. “I really enjoyed the play last night,” I said, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Yeah, I enjoy the plays too. I had forgotten that they were going to do one. It’s a good thing you met them or I wouldn’t have thought to take you. They put on a different show every other month or so. Sometimes there are more or less men in the troupe, but Theresa is always there. She’s the manager.”
There was something about the ending that was sticking in my head. “Theresa’s character died in the play didn’t she?”
“Yes,” Imogen answered after a moment. It didn’t sound like she wanted to talk about that, but I was really curious.
“I didn’t really understand why she died though.”
“She died because she was heartbroken,” Imogen said, “But people don’t die like that in reality. That’s just a play.” I didn’t want to push Imogen, because it seemed a sensitive subject, but now I really wanted to know what things could make people die in reality. I decided to wait a while to ask, and I began to read. It took me a while, but I finished the book.
It was a lovely day. It was in fact warmer than the day I arrived and I liked the feeling of the warm sunlight on my naked skin. It was a little hard on my eyes, though, as the sun had risen higher in the sky. As I looked up trying to see the sun, by looking at it in my peripheral vision, I noticed a little spider hanging in the air. I followed it’s near invisible string with my eyes, until I saw that it was hanging from the edge of the hole in the Machine. The sight of the dark tunnel filled me with things to say, but I didn’t really want to bother Imogen while she painted.
“Can I get up for another book?”
“Which one do you want?” She asked, “It would be better if you didn’t move too much from that position.”
“I don’t know.”
She went through her bag and picked a book for me to read, and then she said, “You know, I don’t think we are the same as them at all.” Finally, something interesting to talk about, I thought.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because, I don’t think I can die. They can die from all sorts of things. It’s happened several times since I came here. A woman died in her house when it caught on fire; a young boy died by drowning in a river near the other side of the village, and apparently if they live a long time, they can just die for no reason!”
“So, how do you know those things won’t make you die?” I asked. It took her a little while to find the words to explain.
“There was this man last year, who died from eating a bad mushroom at a party. I was there, and I had eaten the same mushrooms. I didn’t even get sick!” She seemed a little excited by this, yet saddened still at the memory of the dead man. “But the main reason I think I can’t die, is the same reason that you don’t think you’re one of them.”
“You can just feel it.”
“Yes.”
“Imogen, you told me yesterday that Nathan asked Betty to marry her?”
“That’s right,” she said looking up from her work.
“Will you marry me?” I asked. Imogen seemed quite stunned at this and she just sat there blinking at me for a moment before she recovered enough to speak.
“I don’t think you understand what that means,” she said finally.
“Yes I do,” I said. “Nathan wanted to live with Betty forever, so they became married. I don’t want to find my own place to live in. I want to stay with you, because I enjoy being with you and I would be unhappy if I was on my own.” Imogen was speechless again. She was smiling but it looked like she was crying too.
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll marry you.”
“Okay.” I smiled, and was probably blushing again. I opened my book and went on reading. Imogen laughed really hard. She lay on the grass and rolled around clutching her stomach. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m…sorry,” she chuckled, “But you…you’re just so clueless,” she kept laughing. “Don’t say anything,” she said recovering a little and standing up. “I’m going to kiss you okay?”
“You’re going to what?!”
“Just…stay there,” she said as she approached me and knelt in the grass at my feet. She folded her arms over my knees and leaned up and pressed her lips against mine. It felt nice and I pressed back. I liked that a lot. Then she stood up again and went back to her painting. “Married people do that,” she said with a smile, and a little laugh. She looked beautiful in a sort of ridiculous way with her enormous hat cocked slightly to one side.
“I have an idea,” I said suddenly.
“Oh?” She asked. “Is it anything like your last one?”
“No,” I said. “I think I could climb back into the Machine if I got on top of the horse’s back.” Again she seemed stunned. “That way, we can find out what it does and what we are. If the Machine brings us from somewhere else, the tunnel will lead me back there, but if we are born inside of it, I won’t get far. Either way, I’ll come right back when I find out.”
She was frowning, “I don’t think you will.” Her voice was dead serious, and it scared me a little.
“I just asked you to marry me, so we can live together forever, why wouldn’t I come back?”
“What do you think the Machine does?” She asked.
“I think I was born inside of it.”
“Why?”
“It’s just a feeling.”
“If that were true, then I’m sure you would come back, but if it isn’t, then you’ll find yourself somewhere else and I don’t think you’ll come back.”
“I’ll come back. I love you.” This stunned her once again.
“How do you know that word?” She asked astonishment.
“It’s another feeling.”
“Then go, but I’m coming with you,” she said. “Go and get the horse.”
Standing directly below the tunnel, I could feel a slow wind issuing forth from the dark hole. The air was cool and damp.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“No, but let’s go,” she said tossing her hat into the grass. Standing on the horse’s back, I hoisted myself inside and began climbing slowly using roots that protruded from the walls. I heard Imogen climb in behind me.

End.