"Machine, why does man remain ignorant?"

  This question can not be answered so easily.

  the white room now blossoming into a void black

  A realization of man.

  The purpose of this accursed area.

  Why have I been cast upon here?

  It is not for any crime I have committed.

  No, for I have done no wrong.

  I have been faithful to the one and only.

  Done my penance on the mortal realm.

  Suffered great hardships.

  Yet I was cast here.

  Unlike the land of mortals, where my face brought a sense of peace.

  Here I lack emotion.

  Where in life my voice accounted for thousands.

  Here I am left unheard.

  Where I had to listen to those around me.

  Here I have no reason to consider.

  Thus I lived my life in this realm.

  Considered a heaven for I no longer had to do so much.

  Yet I remained deaf.

  Just like in life.

  I was deaf to those suffering.

  My ears would listen, but I would not understand.

  Their voices, nothing to consider.

  I helped.

  Numbers, statistics, calculations.

  It helped.

  I have done good.

  Yet I did not see.

  A life only a number to me.

  Not an individual.

  Not a soul.

  Not a family.

  Not a son or daughter.

  No, a number.

  One of thousands upon thousands.

  When those graphs rose.

  I thought of it positive.

  A show of my successes.

  Yet now I see.

  Now I hear.

  That was not true.

  Some things are never numbers.

  I was blind, a machine seeing more than I.

  Now this machine, with its dark exterior.

  Rusted cogs, and breaking battery.

  It shows me a new light.

  One where I see their cries.

  Their misery.

  If only I had eyes.

  For they will weep.

  I thought that the machine would fail.

  Fall in line with us.

  That it is like I.

  One in thousands.

  Yet it remained consistent.

  Searching for its mission.

  Wasn't I like that so long ago?

  Didn't I wish for my mission to be completed?

  Where did I go so wrong?

  These questions may go unanswered.

  Yet there is one answer I can answer.

  Moving up, I begin to leave the room.

  I hear small rotors moving behind me.

  It does not say anything.

  I remember the first day I saw it.

  It looked like those small machines.

  Which would give mail to and from.

  I helped it.

  For it reminded me of those machines from so long ago.

  I broke the time set everyone followed.

  Our shared belief in searching for escape.

  Yet none could be found.

  Only trees of limbs would be around us.

  Getting to the forest.

  The lines and lines of beings like I, continue to swirl.

  Like an ant's death spiral.

  Forever in a waltz.

  I get close to a tree.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The limbs starting to shake.

  Placing the side of my head to it.

  I hear it.

  Their cries.

  This is what the machine was doing.

  This is what I have not heard.

  Their stories, each one different to the other.

  Poverty, war, suicide, abuse, and more.

  Suffering upon suffering.

  Each story I took to heart.

  Listened to them.

  Sitting down and crossing my legs.

  I speak to the tree of limbs.

  Responding to each story.

  It feels like millennia since I started listening.

  Each tale long and arduous.

  The machine moved to listen to another tree.

  It also taking the time to hear their words.

  Their sorrows, pain, and misery.

  Soon after long, they changed.

  Small flowers bloomed from the tips of their hands.

  Daffodil-like flowers of an array of colors.

  One befalling to me.

  I look at them.

  Their bright colors smiling at me.

  A nice gesture from the tree.

  I smile back at it.

  Shifting up I soon stood next to the tree.

  Bringing it to an embrace the tree embraced me back.

  Their limbs attempting to hold onto me.

  Like that of a person weeping uncontrollably.

  How long have they suffered?

  Only for us to be so blind to them.

  The others look upon me.

  Their faces, unchanged.

  Yet I know that this will mark a change.

  As we have caused this suffering through our blindness.

  We shall pay another trial.

  I look at the machine.

  It's small facial screen looking back at me.

  "I think I know what sacrifice will fit in the door."

  The machine turns its gears in appreciation.

  We both move along the forest.

  Now hundreds of creatures sit idly.

  Instead of their constant walks.

  They remain near a chosen tree.

  Listening to their tales.

  Their stories, and lives.

  Each one separate, each one new.

  This will be our atonement.

  Seeing the door once again.

  it's wording staring at us;

  "For God has not called us for impurity, but in holiness."

  I hand the machine a daffodil.

  Its little mechanical hand holding onto it tightly.

  It moves along.

  Placing it into the crevice.

  A perfect fit.

  The doors of the place open.

  Loud creaks as the place opens up.

  Outside is dark.

  With a road of gold in front of us.

  "I recommend you follow the road"

  The machine gladly does so.

  Yet before it can leave it asks of me.

  "Will you not follow?"

  "Unfortunately I can't. I have yet finished my atonement."

  The machine accepted the response.

  Soon leaving off into the distance.

  The doors close in front of me.

  I look back, at hundreds of thousands of trees.

  Their cries now heard by all.

  If I meet that robot ever again.

  I hope it will complete its quest.

  For it has given me a purpose.

  That to love.

  And to help.

  Just like I wished to do.

  In my mortal shell.