Emotion Vending Machine: Please insert suitable coins only

The story is about a young woman who becomes lost in the digital world. She uses her laptop like a magic mirror to create an idealised version of herself. In doing so, she pushes aside her real life and genuine intimacy, which fade away behind the digital facade.

The keys are the notes she strikes; the screen is her magic mirror. As her birthday approaches and the walls begin to close in, this rectangular marvel opens up another world – one that belongs to her alone. Here, she can be whoever she wants and pull the image she has created over what remains of her like a second skin. It is like a paint-by-numbers picture designed by her own vanity.

With hasty brushstrokes, she casts an image onto the infinite canvas of this magical thing, changing it again and again, even as it takes shape. Photo retouching acts as a benevolent magic wand that softens the contours of disappointment, chasing away the gaze of others through an infinite number of filters before it meets the image. But that is merely the ever-changing facade; the real retouching takes place elsewhere – in the soul. Not a single truth gets through; the censor is relentlessly focused on smoothness and conformity.

A cleverly worded post and a doctored photo are quite enough, and the others say whatever is necessary to activate the magic mirror. 'Who is the fairest in the land? Who has the biggest heart?' It doesn't matter. You... you... you, that just means: I... I... I.

No one sees her sitting at her laptop, haphazardly searching for the little switches that will make the machine spit out exactly what she thinks she needs right now. No one sees how she reaches for the wrong things over and over again, always groping in the dark, a hand's breadth away from what might have helped her, and of which she didn't even know what it was.

Now that she has the machine that spits out the little stimuli she wants, it no longer seems to matter. She lies to someone she believes is being sought – for him, for her and for them, too. Sometimes she slips into the wrong imaginary costume before playing the right tune on the keyboard. She picks the wrong recipient and often doesn't even realise it.

The stories she tells lack all logic, and she doesn't notice. To her misfortune, the others haven't noticed for a long time either. Bending and camouflaging are all part of the game, and nobody takes offence at it. But while she is composing her pieces, the life she once wanted is collapsing behind her back. To her, it seems like nothing more than a stage prop. Her passions reside in this small thing, which is her gateway to the colourful world of her dream existence. Passion is only real when it appears in this mirror. Love is only worthwhile if it can be summoned in letters as a posted declaration and seen by everyone. There are hearts with wings, glitter, love songs and attention-grabbing posts and emails, like an overturned make-up case.

Every notion of what she once recognised as closeness fades behind her turned-away back, and she overlooks it because it happens without any drama and without the slightest glittering trace. Love is simple; it's just like in the films. It's a product of one's own direction – you don't have to do anything about it. She used to know better, but the magic box has taught her that it can work this way, too. You don't have to make an effort; you get everything as instant emotion. And she believes in its power, forgetting that it's only about play money, which has no value in life.

She mixes it all up, thinking of herself as the image she has created, and keeps feeding her self-minted coins into the machine that is supposed to provide her with the attention she depends on. No one has told her the story of the salt water that cannot quench thirst. There are hearts with wings, romantic sayings and digital laughter. 'Grin,' she types, the corners of her mouth turned down. And as she smiles, her real life fades away behind her.

© 'Emotion Vending Machine: Please insert suitable coins only': a short story by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 05/2026. The picture shows a 'Grid in the Evening', taken by Pressenet, 2012.