So what if a story is written from the perspective of the story machine.

Henry entered the dark room. He heard a low tone that reminded him of the heartbeat of an underground beast. So he knew he should be scared.

Henry smiled, stomping enslippered out onto his porch. The music rose like yellowmeadow butterflies. So he knew he should be happy.

Henry’s head fell to the tabletop. The music seeped in from the left, easing down darker scales, which suggested to him that something about sadness had or was soon to happen.

Henry just couldn’t stop chuckling to himself. As he moved room to room he couldn’t get it out of his head that a laughing crowd saw everything he was doing and this just gave him all the joy in the world.