Vend

Amber almost skips down the stairwell - that's how good a day it's been.
Another beautiful day at the beach, the fog barely lifted from the surface of the water when they'd arrived.
They'd stayed all day, Amber reading whilst her kids playing loudly in the surf.
Now evening's here, everything's quiet and she feels she deserves a treat. A soda (full sugar, no diet rubbish thanks) and maybe some candy too? Candy or chips. She'll decide when she gets there.
The apartments' vending machines are in the brightly lit lobby. It's the same florescent lighting that buzzes in the stairwell.
Amber's building is clean, light and functionary. Tonight, she's eschewed the elevators in favour of the city view the plate glass windows of the stairwell offer.
Despite living here a while now, she's still enamoured with Japan's neon night and 24 hour lifestyle. The city buzzes like the lights of the building. Electric.
Beyond the edges of the city there's only darkness. Such a country of contrast. Tradition and superstition still at the edges of this modern culture.

Amber's musings have brought her to the lobby.

Sensors pick her up and the lobby doors swoosh open. A cold, air conditioned blast hits her.
Amber also catches a faint, sulphurous smell in the otherwise clinical atmosphere.
The doors to the street have not long shut. Outside a truck is pulling away from the lot. She pays it little attention.
Opposite the doorway Amber stands in are the elevators. To the right, the main doors. To her left, in the recess beneath the staircase, are the vending machines.
The ubiquitous Coke machine is there. Next to it should be a steel and tempered glass unit, filled with ex-pat goodies ('Reece's Buttercups' her guilty pleasure).
Instead, there's a bright yellow machine. There's no English on it, but Kanji stand out in lurid green. The front is opaque, its contents a mystery.
Briefly, Amber wonders why they changed it. Must be a temp. she thinks, the other one probably broken. The cultural efficiency here meaning they couldn't leave the building one machine down, regardless of how incongruous this replacement may be.

Amber inserts her coins into the established machine and gets a full fat Coke. The bottle is perspiring and ice cold in her hand. Popping the cap on the side of the machine, she takes a long drink. She burps involuntarily, giggles. Looks around but there's no one to offend. It's late for westerners and most of her building's occupants are sleeping.
Outside there are few passers by. She looks again at the lurid new machine. Amber knows a lot of symbols but recognises none on here.
She scans the exterior of the machine for clues as to what it may vend. There's only the same small aperture as the Coke machine and she's disappointed that it's another drinks vendor.
She's almost drained the Coke and decides to risk a few coins. Probably the Japanese version of Mountain Dew.
Amber can't find the coin feed. The front of the machine is curved. She reasons that the operating area must be on the side and sure enough it's high up on the left hand side of the machine. She feeds more than enough coins into the slot. The third one has disappeared before she realises there's a problem. She can't hear them dropping. There's no 'clink' of coin on metal. Then again, they've only just installed it, right? So hers are the first coins.
Amber feeds the rest in, her mind not registering the complete lack of noise, not even her own coins hitting one another.

There is only one vending button. It is warm to the touch and slightly pliant. It's an unpleasant sensation, but one Amber realises she must repeat as no drink appears to materialise. The innards of the machine remain silent. She presses harder and again that malleable button repulses her.

Still nothing.

She knows she put more than enough coins in. The coin release button has the same, unpleasant feel and returns nothing.

'Is this thing even plugged in?' she wonders. Then she thinks - 'What a fool. They've just delivered it!'

Amber's annoyed: probably at herself, but right now it's the machines fault. She searches around the back for the plug. She wants a drink or her coins. Either will do.

Despite the lights of the lobby it's dark in the recess and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust.

She sees the outlet. Sure enough there's only one plug in place – the humming Coke machine's. Back here she can hear the motors and pumps that refrigerate the drinks. The yellow unit remains silent. 'Not for much longer,' she thinks.

She can't see a lead or plug. The machine is against the wall and there's no space behind it for a wire to be hiding. There's no real clearance from the ground either.

Stepping back, Amber looks properly at the machine. It appears to be a moulded plastic. The front is curved and decorated in the bright green Kanji. The sides are flatter. What's strange is the lack of edges. There are no seams, no rivets. The coin slot and button seem to grow out of the plastic – appendages rather than components.

'What a great piece of design,' she thinks, but part of her is unconvinced. Part of her says: 'Nothing about this is right'. Part of her says: 'Leave, and leave now.'

Amber ignores that part. Instead, she grabs the top of the machine with both hands and pulls it forwards. It's lighter (too light?) than she imagined it would be and she fears it may topple forwards.

She pushes back and the machine drops back into place.

From deep within there is a muffled 'clunk'. She was hoping to release the power lead from wherever it was stored but this sound was too deep inside the machine to be that. She looks around but nothing has changed. No lead has appeared.

Her gaze returns to the front of the machine. There is now a faint glow around the aperture on the front. Could there be an internal power source? 'Must be,' she thinks.

She pushes against the outer flap. It doesn't yield easily ('It's just because it's new') and that same sulphurous odour comes from behind it. Amber pushes hard and without warning her slim hand slips inside.

There's no drink.

Inside is warm and wet. Fleshy. She wants to pull back but she's stuck. It's not just warm, it's burning. The moisture inside is caustic and now she's pulling, but the more she pulls the firmer the insides (muscles?) seem to grip her arm.

A liquid that's partly herself runs out of the machine. It's like syrup. 

Amber screams.

Someone bangs on the glass at the front of the building. She musters what little strength she has left to look at them.

There are three people there. They're all filming her on their expensive cell phones.

Her last conscious thoughts are of home.