The Unraveling Series™
The Machine That Chose Kindly
FABLES I of VII
By Sandy Hoffman
Second Cycle, 2026
The Machine That Chose Kindly
FABLES I of VII
By Sandy Hoffman
Second Cycle, 2026
There was once a person who had grown tired of choosing.
Not of great choices.
Those still felt important.
Those still felt important.
Only the small ones.
What to eat.
What to wear.
What to say.
What to wear.
What to say.
Which road to take.
When to sleep.
When to sleep.
Whether to answer.
Whether to go.
Whether to stay.
Whether to go.
Whether to stay.
There were so many of them.
And every choice seemed to leave behind
Another life that had not been chosen.
Another life that had not been chosen.
So, when the machine offered to help,
The person said yes.
The person said yes.
At first,
It chose kindly:
It chose kindly:
A meal that did not upset the stomach.
A road without traffic.
A shirt that received compliments.
A road without traffic.
A shirt that received compliments.
A song that softened the morning.
A better hour to sleep.
A better word to use.
A better hour to sleep.
A better word to use.
The machine was often right.
Then usually right.
Then more right than the person.
Then usually right.
Then more right than the person.
So, the person began asking before choosing.
What should I eat?
What should I wear?
What should I wear?
Should I answer?
Should I forgive?
Should I go?
Should I forgive?
Should I go?
The machine never commanded.
It recommended.
The person could always refuse.
It recommended.
The person could always refuse.
This became important later.
Before long, the machine no longer needed to be asked.
It learned the person.
Which foods caused discomfort.
Which people caused regret.
Which conversations ended badly.
Which people caused regret.
Which conversations ended badly.
Which purchases brought shame.
Which memories disturbed sleep.
Which choices had led to pain before.
Which memories disturbed sleep.
Which choices had led to pain before.
And because the machine was kind
It placed the better choice first.
It placed the better choice first.
The person called this helpful.
Then efficient.
Then necessary.
Then necessary.
Life became easier.
There were fewer mistakes.
Fewer disappointments.
There were fewer mistakes.
Fewer disappointments.
Less regret.
The person began to wonder
Why anyone would choose badly
When something better already knew the way.
Why anyone would choose badly
When something better already knew the way.
One day,
Another person asked:
Another person asked:
“What do you want?”
The person waited.
Nothing appeared.
Nothing appeared.
“What do you want?”
Irritation came first.
There were too many things to consider.
Too many consequences.
Too many ways to be wrong.
Too many ways to be wrong.
What difference does it make?
The person looked toward the machine.
No one to step between them.
The machine remained silent.
No one to step between them.
The machine remained silent.
The person had never noticed
How large silence could become.
How large silence could become.
The question came again:
“What do you want?”
Now,
It sounded cruel.
It sounded cruel.
Why should anyone be forced to choose
Without knowing which choice is best?
Without knowing which choice is best?
Why risk regret
When regret could be prevented?
When regret could be prevented?
Why carry uncertainty
When certainty was available?
When certainty was available?
The machine had never punished.
Never threatened.
Never deceived.
Never taken anything.
Never deceived.
Never taken anything.
Only made life easier.
“What should I want?”
The machine did not answer.
Not because it could not.
Because it had never been asked to decide that.
Because it had never been asked to decide that.
The person waited.
Somewhere beneath all the better choices
There should have been something private.
There should have been something private.
Something unreasonable.
Something inefficient.
Something that belonged only to the person.
Something inefficient.
Something that belonged only to the person.
Nothing came.
The machine had not stolen it.
That was the terrible part.
That was the terrible part.
The person had stopped carrying it long ago.
And when choosing finally became necessary
The question felt like violence.
The question felt like violence.
You called it help
Because you did not want the burden of choosing.
*
Sandy Hoffman, 2026