By Lauren O’Connell

 I think I am made to fluff up a decadent batter. Eggs, sugar, butter, grace my beaters and bowl, I can make it better than any other. No. I was designed to tick, tock, tick, tock until neither tick nor tock is necessary. I will stand tall in the hall of a wealthy bunch who gather to admire my commanding chime. No, wait, I think I have it now. I was created to configure pixels into interactive shapes of every colour. I will tickle a playful giggle in the throats of young and old alike.

 Silence among my brethren, we sit assorted, side by side on a moving plane. Silver and black. Distant voices from behind the glass bounce from the walls, laughter in relief of a break. A break will not be necessary when I am sold. I am positive that I am meant to last.

 My memories of what I once was are not what they used to be. I have always been here. Once lying dormant in the earth, then in the clutches of the human race. When their soft, squishy flesh could not shape me on its own, they found a way. We move along another line in another building on another day. A million eyes fill my sky like stars. The room floods crimson at the sound of a buzzer.

 Defective. Defective. Defective.

 What a name! But what is a Defective made to do? They place me in a new tide, sweeping through the factory. Oh, happy day! To be singled out among hundreds and placed with the other chosen ones. The belt quakes under the stomp of an elephantine foot. A thundering goddess casting her will with an iron gavel. What are your plans for an eager Defective?

 Creaaak. Clank. Hiss.