Dicho // Two Balls
Two glass containers on my desk - each housing an uncountable amount of tiny, metal balls; one with red, the other with blue. I pull the first of two levers beneath them, and the vessels begin to rotate. Slow at first, but picking up to a considerable speed, the balls click, clack, and clang upon each other as they are shuffled.
After a moment in the mesmer of the cacophonic ceremony, I yank the second lever. The containers halt at once, and the balls settle in a stack of spheres. Only the sound of two balls rolling - one from each randomizer - can be heard; they make their way down chutes that extend from the bottom of each container and loop all around my desk. They finish by depositing their selection onto a cushion right in front of the levers, where it all began.
I first grab the red, and hold it right up to my eye; barely bigger than my fingernail, yet containing etchings of several, microscopic sentences.
A seat on a separate device projects light through the ball onto a screen behind me. The stretched white cloth glows bright red, and at last I can read that which fate has assigned me:
[REDACTED]
Bewildered, I take a brief moment to absorb the premise.. of course, I know the possibilities of the randomizer are nearly limitless. Separate tubes swap out balls with new options in an endless cycle, and they are impossible to track and decipher before they are chosen and dispensed from the machine. And so... this is my direction. Huh.
Now, I also know that the prompt is entirely transformed by the style of conveyance, insofar that just one of the two selections provide no meaningful context outside of its pair. And so, with its contents memorized, I replace the red ball with the blue. CLoth now aglow in cerulean, I read once again:
[REDACTED]
I can't help but leak a grin from my lips. Instantly, my mind races between several different ways to combine the two. This time, I am excited to finish the assignment. It won't end up perfect, but it will be a fun story to write.