Don't Push The Button

a slightly cozy, somewhat dystopian speculative fiction story

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No one could remember exactly when the bright red vending machine had arrived on the corner of Clark Street and Ninth Avenue. Some claimed it had been there forever, but photographic evidence proved it hadn’t. Some claimed it belonged to an old gas station a block away which was now doing a brisk business as a bakery. There were no pictures to prove that theory either way. However, if one paid attention to the residents who paid attention, it was fairly logical to assume the vending machine appeared on the corner of Clark Street and Ninth Avenue sometime between May 6 and May 14.

This date could be surmised due to the fact that Marvin and Nina Roberts had set up a lemonade stand on the corner of Clark Street and Ninth Avenue the morning of May 6 while visiting their grandmother Carol Hackwood. Carol had taken copious pictures of them, all with an obvious lack of vending machine. In fact the first actual picture of the vending machine was taken on May 14 by Carol, sent to her daughter with the text “Sooo cute. Can’t wait to see you. Dad says his bunions are better. Love you, Mom ❤️”.

The vending machine itself was quite appealing to look at. A bright cherry red that felt like it belonged to the olden days of everyone’s youth, no matter their age. It harkened back to the way things had once been, if only in their imagination. To a time when things were comfortable and innocent and you could buy a soda or candy bar for much less than they cost today.

However, there were two notable differences about this bright red vending machine and the ones someone might kick because it stole their quarter. One, it didn’t appear to dispense soda or candy bars. In fact, there was no glass viewing window to announce its contents at all. And two, it wore a warning, painted in bright blue and white letters that simply read, ‘Don’t Push The Button’.

“I’m sure it’s some stupid prank,” said Daryl Hoffner, the old man who lived at 923 Clark Street, in the beige house with the slightly neglected rose bushes. “Kids these days.”

“Oh,” said Carol, who lived at 924, in the blue house with a yard full of daisies, “I think it’s cute. It’s probably some kind of art installation. They’re all over the place now.”

“Influencer,” said fourteen-year-old Melanie, who was currently going by An, but who had been going by Mel yesterday, and Nie two weeks before. She lived at 922, a white house that her mother and father were constantly renovating so they could post content for their followers. When Carol asked what she meant, An rolled her eyes. “It probably records you when you look at it and then posts people’s reactions. It’s stupid.”

Prank, art installation, or influencer gimmick, it took only eight minutes after the neighbors began discussing the vending machine before someone pressed the button.

As Carol, Daryl, and An all chatted, Anthony Carter, the sixteen-year-old from 928, the yellow house with nice grass, walked up to it, read the sign, and then defiantly pressed the button. When asked why he pushed it he simply said, “No one tells me what to do.” He shook his head. “Pointless anyways. It didn’t do anything and I didn’t even get a stupid reaction.”

“That’s because you didn’t put in a quarter,” Daryl said. “Kids these days, thinking they can just get something for nothing.”

“Well,” Carol replied. “Let me see, I think I’ve got a quarter here somewhere.” She dug around in her very large floral-patterned purse and pulled her hand out triumphantly, holding up a dull silver coin.

“What’s that?” An asked.

“Money, dear,” replied Carol as she walked up to the machine and placed the quarter into the slot.

“It says ‘don’t push the button’,” Ella Ramirez said, walking up, wearing the pink headphones she always wore. She was eighteen and lived at 927. Her well-loved, penguin-shaped backpack was one she’d worn since she was twelve. She’d been teased about it then, too.

“That’s absolutely true, dear,” Carol replied. “But I don’t think they’d just put it here and not expect someone to try it out.”

Ella stood there, looking unimpressed.

Carol pressed the coin slider into the machine and let it go. It released, popping back out, the quarter gone, then she pushed the button and everyone waited for something to happen.

But nothing did.

“Well,” Carol said. “Nothing happened. It must be art.”

“It’s stupid art,” Anthony said.

“They’re recording you right now,” An sighed.

“I don’t give a shit,” Anthony replied, flipping the vending machine off.

An just shrugged.

“I don’t think we should press it again,” Ella said.

Anthony rolled his eyes and made a crazy sign with his finger as he walked passed her.

“Girl may have a point,” Daryl added. “I think we should call the city and have them remove it.”

“But it’s so cheerful looking,” Carol said.

And that was the end of the conversation. 

No one did anything about the vending machine for two months. Well, that’s not exactly true. Anthony would walk past it and randomly push the button whenever he was angry about something. An avoided it all together. And Carol would snap pretty pictures of it and send them to her daughter. Ella always walked on the other side of the street now. And Daryl stood on the corner, his arms crossed, grumbling about it.

Then, on July 7, An’s parents took a video of the vending machine and posted it on their socials joking they might give it a makeover.

That video was seen by 382,279 viewers, including Ashley Blue Kyle, a major social media influencer, who left New York City just to come see the vending machine and post pics of herself with it. She coordinated her outfit and nails in white and blue to match the ‘don’t push the button’ colors so she would really pop when standing beside the bright red machine. And then she spent five hours getting pictures and video of herself with it. She danced around it, posed with it, licked it, pushed the button numerous times, and even went live answering questions about her most recent break-up, with the vending machine in the background .

An, who was now back to going by Nie, made sure to avoid the whole situation. Her parents filmed everything about their lives already and she was tired of it.

Ella walked over to Ashley Blue Kyle and pointed out that she wasn’t supposed to push the button. But Ashley Blue Kyle just made fun of her childish penguin backpack and posted a video calling Ella ‘a bossy weirdo’.

Daryl watched from behind his blinds, still confused about what social media actually was.

Carol walked by and waved pleasantly, and Ashley Blue Kyle waved back and posted a video about how friendly the neighborhood actually was if you just avoided the weird penguin girl.

Anthony walked by, pretending not to give a shit, but instantly went into performance mode when Ashley Blue Kyle started filming him. He made jokes and posed with his electric skateboard. He even got a few selfies of them together.

The next day nine other influencers were there to film themselves in front of the strange vending machine Ashley Blue Kyle had just made famous. The button was pushed hundreds of times, Ella telling them all the while not to push it while being ignored and called mean names.

One week after Ashley Blue Kyle posted her first video of the vending machine, the neighborhood blew up as the location to see, and, more importantly, the place to take pictures and be seen. People came from far and wide to see the vending machine, to put their quarter in, and, of course, to push the button.

“Pretty sure it’s a persistence thing,” said Caleb Wilson, a tech investor from Palo Alto. “At some point someone’s going to put in a quarter and get a million dollars.”

“I think it’s like Russian roulette,” said Thelma Johnson, from Kansas City. “Someone is going to push that button and get shot one day. And,” she declared, while setting up her third webcam, “it’s not going to be me.”

By this point Clark Street had become almost unlivable. Tourists poured in and out, always filming and snapping pictures. There was absolutely no privacy. Everyone on the street kept their blinds or drapes closed. Except for Nie’s parents, who had put signs out in their yard with their social media handles.

A month into the fame, a small contingent of neighbors, lead by Daryl, went to City Hall asking for help to keep their street clear. But the city was much too happy with the tourist money coming in to do anything about it.

The night after the City Hall meeting, however, Mayor George Brown admitted to his wife that even if they hadn’t been making money, he couldn’t “see a single way we could actually stop anyone from coming to see the darn thing. We don’t have the budget. Let alone a way of enforcing something like that.”

Three months after Ashley Blue Kyle’s post, Carol was trying to sell her house. “It’s just too crazy here. I need a place that’s safe for my grandkids. My daughter hates to come visit me now.”

Daryl, who didn’t have kids to come visit, stood on his porch, glaring at people as they walked by. He’d built an especially sharp-pointed picket fence around his entire front yard and would yell at people if they got too close.

Nie, who was now only answering to Mela, would sit up in a tree and watch everyone from above. She wore camo and secretly got a little thrill when someone would finally notice her and startle.

After gaining followers because of his cameo in Ashley Blue Kyle’s video post, Anthony was trying to get his music career going. He would sing and rap for his socials videos. His parents’ grass was no longer pristine and was now mostly worn away from all the foot traffic. And his dad had just moved out, again, for good, at least according to his loud shout as he got into his car and drove off.

On the morning six months after the vending machine arrived, Clark Street had a dusting of snow when John Bennet came with his daughter and wife to see the tourist attraction. He popped in a quarter his wife, Angie, handed him, letting his daughter Lauren push the button. Angie startled as the machine began to make a noise. All the tourists pulled their phones out and began filming. 

From a small slot in the front of the machine a piece of paper rolled out like a receipt. 

The crowd grew hushed. Ella was walking home on her way back from her college history class and only noticed what was going on because of how quiet it was. Mela was sitting in a tree and leaned forward, almost falling off her branch, but catching herself just in time.

John took the piece of paper and didn’t even think of offering it to his wife or daughter to read, but stood in front of everyone and slowly unrolled it, obviously relishing the moment.

“What does it say?” someone shouted.

John cleared his throat and read, “Don’t push the button.”

There was silence. He held the paper up, showing it to everyone. And then his audience burst into laughter. A rush of excitement passed through the crowd.

“It’s close now,” Caleb Wilson, the tech investor, said. “Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen soon.”

That afternoon Caleb posted to his socials that it was time to get down and start overloading the machine with quarters. He was on his way with two hundred dollars worth.

It was only at this point people realized there was something else very odd about the vending machine. It never filled up. It was watched around the clock by people filming and taking pictures. But no one ever came to empty it. And it never filled up. Which was impossible. According to a recent estimate, fifteen hundred people put a quarter into it every day. Even if the whole thing was hollow, it should be bursting at the seams. 

The night John Bennet read the message aloud, Ella went home and determined she would try and do something. She painted a sign on a piece of a large Amazon box then late in the night she snuck out and chained herself to the vending machine. The vending machine wasn’t as visited at night, but there were always people there. And they filmed Ella the entire time. It was yet another thing to entertain them.

The next morning when the myriads of ‘investors’ arrived with their bags of quarters, they were very unhappy to find Ella chained to the machine. They never even noticed her sign, which simply read, “Please don’t touch the button.”

One quarter-carrying man inexplicably pulled a chain cutter from his backpack and cut through the padlock connecting the chain. Then three large men and two women pulled Ella from the machine and were carrying her above their heads when Daryl stepped into the crowd, shotgun in hand.

“Put the girl down,” he boomed. “Or I shoot. And for you idiots that don’t understand a shotgun, it’s gonna hit more than just one of you, so…”

They set Ella down, shaking their heads, but backing up.

Daryl motioned for Ella to move close to him. He opened a small gate and they stepped into his yard, which now had barbed wire along the top of the sharp picket fence. He made a point of setting the gun within easy reach and then looked at Ella.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded her head, but was wiping away a tear.

“You’re an odd one,” he said. “But I think you’re right about not pushing the button. And good on ya for tellin’ ‘em so.”

Ella half smiled as she straightened her pink headphones.

“Stay here,” Daryl said. He walked into his house and came back out with a Hershey’s bar. “Chocolate?”

Ella nodded and they ate chocolate and watched as people began to pump quarter after quarter into the vending machine.

One month after John Bennet’s printed message, another message came out of the vending machine. This time it was Caleb Wilson who’s quarter elicited it. “Don’t Touch The Button!” it read.

“An exclamation point!” Caleb shouted. “We’re close!”

From then on, there was a printed message every week. Each time with an exclamation point.

Now, besides the trodden yards, the overcrowded streets, the high noise levels, and the litter and garbage left everywhere, the neighbors on Clark street noticed other changes. Their basements had begun to flood. The trees were beginning to die. Not just loose their leaves. Die. There was a strange haze over the neighborhood. And the water from their taps tasted bad.

Daryl, Ella, and Mela, who was now just going by M, had taken to eating chocolate every Wednesday in Daryl’s front yard. They watched Carol push her way through the crowd and walk over to them. “Permission to come ayard?” she asked, smiling. 

Daryl nodded, groaning at her joke. 

Carol opened the gate and stepped into the small fortress. “I was thinking,” she said. “Well, we haven’t been able to sell our house but we’re moving anyway. Live with my daughter for a while. Chuck’s heart can’t take this racket anymore and I’m worried I’m going to lose him one of these nights with all this stress. Besides, we’ll get to see the grandkids more.” She smiled a half smile.

Daryl nodded.

“Anyways,” Carol said, brightening up. “I thought it might be nice to say goodbye. And with tomorrow being the one year anniversary of this whole thing,” she motioned to the crowd around the vending machine, “I thought we might have a picnic. If you all want?”

“Better have it here,” Daryl said. “None of your yards are safe.”

“That would be lovely,” Carol said. “And I agree. So, tomorrow at noon?”

“Do we need to bring anything?” Daryl asked.

“I’ll bring sandwiches and a jello salad,” Carol said. “It would be lovely if any of you wanted to bring something, too.”

Just then Anthony walked by. He looked dejected. Tired. His star had risen quickly on social media after being featured by Ashley Blue Kyle, then crashed just as quickly because he wasn’t coming up with enough new content.

“Anthony,” Carol called out. He stopped and looked up from the sidewalk. “Picnic in Daryl’s yard, tomorrow at noon. We’d love for you to come.”

Anthony nodded and then kept walking.

“Poor boy,” Carol said. “He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping at all.”

The next day Carol arrived at Daryl’s yard at 11:58 am. She carried two picnic baskets that she set out on a plastic folding table Daryl had dug out of his garage.

“I haven’t seen this table since you and Millie had that garage sale right before she passed,” Carol paused. “Sorry, Daryl. I miss her, too.”

Daryl cleared his throat, nodding, then turned to look away as Carol shook out a brightly colored table cloth and placed it on the table, pretending she didn’t notice as he wiped his eyes.

Ella arrived next, carrying a tray of vegetables and hummus.

M was right behind her, and came bearing several bags of potato chips and a tray of strawberry muffins with white frosting and a very ornate strawberry decoration on top.

“I didn’t know you baked, dear,” Carol said, taking the plates of food and placing them on the table. “These are lovely.”

“My mom wanted me to make them for a video,” M replied, unimpressed.

Anthony was a few minutes late, but he was carrying a plastic tub of potato salad. “From Safeway,” he said. “I usually just eat Taco Bell, but I thought this was better for a picnic.”

“Quite right,” Carol said, nodding. “And stop by tomorrow for supper. I always have leftovers and you can’t expect a growing boy to live on take-out alone.” Anthony nodded, looking pleased. No one mentioned that Anthony’s mom was now never home because she was busy with three jobs since her husband had left. 

Carol set to taking out several plates of sandwiches from her first basket and then revealed a majestic jello salad from the second basket. It was twelve layers of multiple colors, and everyone ‘oohed’ and ‘awwed’. “It’s my mother’s recipe,” she said, pulling out a can of whipped cream, very pleased with their response. It was exactly what she had hoped for.

“I’ll be right back,” Daryl said, he looked at Ella and pointed to the shotgun leaning against the front door frame. “Shoot anyone that comes into the yard.”

Ella adjusted her pink headphones and stood sentry by the gun while Daryl went inside. He reappeared a few minutes later carrying a homemade chocolate cake in one hand and holding a bowl of taco salad in the other.

Carol smiled and this time it was her turn to wipe her eyes. “You did Millie proud,” she said, her voice soft.

Daryl cleared his throat several times, but looked pleased.

Everyone helped Daryl pull lawn chairs from his full garage and then they all set into the food. People stopped to take pictures of them as they ate, but the small group did their best to ignore the ridiculous intrusion of privacy.

“I remember when I first moved here,” Carol said. “Thirty years ago. We’d have a neighborhood picnic every summer. That’s when I met you and Millie.” She looked at Daryl. “My Kathy was only eight. And I hadn’t even had Mark. I just knew this neighborhood was the place I wanted them to grow up.”

“Good kids,” Daryl said. “Kathy and Mark. I used to pay them to mow my lawn.”

“Paid them too much,” Carol replied smiling.

Daryl shrugged, but a small smile hinted at the corners of his mouth.

They finished their vegetables and hummus and Carol passed around the sandwiches.

“I remember when you were born,” Daryl said, motioning to Ella. 

In the background people were beginning to hoot and holler. Each quarter being pushed into the vending machine now received an all-caps message reading “DON’T PUSH THE BUTTON!!!”

“Your mom and dad brought you back, all small and wearing pink,” Daryl said. “Although I never understood why that father of yours left. Couldn’t handle his daughter being different I guess. A man needs to take responsibility for his family. Guess that’s why you and your mother dropped his name. Serves him right.”

Ella shrugged, seemingly unbothered. 

“You had this pink stuffed bunny,” Daryl continued.

Ella smiled and reached into her backpack, pulling out a very worn, stuffed pink rabbit.

“That’s the one,” Daryl said. “Millie just loved you. Loved when you’d stop by and point at her roses. She couldn’t get enough of you until she got sick and…”

Ella brushed the head of the stuffed rabbit against Daryl’s arm and he gave a small nod of thanks.

“And you,” Carol pointed to M. “The day your parents moved in you rode around the whole neighborhood on your tricycle telling everyone that you were now the mayor of the neighborhood and we all needed to pay the hug tax.”

“So embarrassing,” M replied.

“It was lovely,” said Carol, smiling.

As the picnic moved on to potato salad the crowd shouted loudly as a new message printed from the vending machine. “DON’T! TOUCH! THE! BUTTON!”

“Bet I ruined the whole place when I arrived,” Anthony said, his tone gruff.

“Not at all,” Carol replied. “You’d walk around and sing to us all with that beautiful voice of yours.”

“You’ve been singing since you were four,” Daryl said. “Sang a pretty nice version of the national anthem at the ballpark a few years ago.”

Anthony seemed touched that Daryl remembered it. “I’m sorry!” he suddenly burst out. “I touched the button first. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh, dear,” Carol replied, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t been worried about that this whole time have you? You know it’s not your fault. I pushed the button, too.”

“My parents posted it on social media,” M said.

No one had anything to say to that.

“Crap,” Daryl said. “Even I pushed it once.”

As the picnic moved on to taco salad and then jello salad and potato chips, the crowd was stuffing the vending machine full of quarters as fast as they could force them in, and punching the button with great force. The message printing out now read “DON’T!!! TOUCH!!! THE!!! BUTTON!!!”

“I guess it all comes down to human nature,” M said. “Stupid people do stupid things.”

“Oh, my dear,” Carol said. “So jaded for someone so young.”

“Their generation should be jaded,” Daryl said. “Ain’t a single one of them that hasn’t been filmed since birth. It isn’t good for a person to be watched so closely their whole life.”

“Well, I guess we’re all sort of to blame,” Carol mused. “We’ve all pushed the button.”

“I guess one person pushing the button once might be okay,” Anthony replied. "But when everyone keeps choosing to push it over and over again…”

“Ella never pushed the button,” M said. “And she tried to stop people.”

“Good point,” Carol said. “Smarter than the rest of us aren’t you, dear?” Ella shrugged. Carol looked at Daryl. “Now, let’s see how well you followed Millie’s chocolate cake recipe.”

Daryl stood up and cut into the cake as the crowd behind them went wild. The vending machine now had a permanent stream of paper printing out of it. “DON’T TOUCH THE BUTTON DON’T TOUCH THE BUTTON DON’T TOUCH THE BUTTON…”

Daryl handed around slices of cake and then sat back down. They were each happily silent upon the first bite of the rich, sweet cake. Daryl had indeed done Millie proud.

Then, one last quarter was shoved into the vending machine and… everything was silent. Because they had all ceased to exist. The neighborhood, the crowds, the picnic, Carol, Daryl, Anthony, Ella and her stuffed rabbit, M, who could never change her name again, and, if one pulls far enough out, although far enough out from what is debatable, the planet was gone, too. As were its neighboring planets. And its sun. It was all gone. Except for the bright red vending machine. Which now simply floated through space, on its way to the next inhabited planet, searching for intelligent life, scattering quarters as it went.

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Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out my other short stories on Substack. P.S. They aren’t all dystopian. :)

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