The Machine

A Story by L.

Written for a contest held by my friend Piper called "The Machine"

The sun's rising again, not that I get much light in my little corner here. Another day, and I expect soon you'll be wanting me to get to work. That's all I am to you, isn't it? Just a way of getting something done quickly. Have you ever thought of treating me a littler nicer? You don't have to shove me so hard, pushing down on me like that hurts. My friends get pampered compared with what I have to put up with. Well, today I'm taking my revenge.

Oh, here you come, just woken up, stumbling into my room and making a racket. That's right, just shove food into my mouth. You know, I don't even like bread. It's all I can taste now, there's so many crumbs and burnt crusts stuck right at the back of my throat. But you probably don't care. Off you go, to greet my friends and treat them oh-so-nicely. A gentle push of a button, softly closing the door. Oh, you'd never dream of hurting them. All hope of forgiveness has just faded, time to get my own back.

That's the beauty of my methods, you see. I don't ping when I'm ready, I don't bubble and steam and shriek to high Heaven when I'm done. Oh no, I'm completely silent, I don't make a noise. These pieces of bread are warming up rather nicely. That's right, you go sit yourself down, just forget about me. Yes, I don't give a warning when I'm finished my job. You put it to the back of your mind. Then you smell it. Followed by that faint wisp of smoke.

Oh yes, I hope you like charcoal for breakfast.