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Description
She prods me awake, stirring up a cloud of dust on the keyboards as she taps a tuneless rhythm. Blinking between black and white static, she sighs impatiently mumbling that I'm a dinosaur of a computer. That's not true; I may have internet access that has information about dinosaurs, but I am not a dinosaur. The tap keeps rhythm with her insistent tone and two word sentence; 'Come on, come on'. Waking up is hard for me. If only she could learn I'd be quicker starting up if she put me on hibernate.
I open my blue eyes, but my surrounding plastic face remains pale and pasty. She types in her username and password, and I purr with pleasure as I know she trusts me with such intimate details. A familiar white figure appears as I squint to get orientated. My friendly helper, the mouse, wiggles across the screen under her directions. He gurn's whenever he clicks on a program or when he highlights texts; this entertains me to no end.
She decides to open up Internet Explorer, Photoshop, and Microsoft word and QuickTime music player. Is she trying to kill me? I may be a large computer, but so many large programs open at the same time are overwhelming. The mouse smiles at me apologising, as he asks for forgiveness from the computer, whilst avoiding upsetting his controller. Dismissing him, I concentrate on the Internet first, ringing the server. I always become embarrassed as dialling up always sounds like I'm noisily chewing gravel or clearing phlegm from my wires. Needless to say, she found it existentially annoying.
"Gah, I am sick of dial up! Why won't Mum get Broadband?" she splutters while banging the mouse and mashing the keys. Confused, I open up a few dialog boxes to try and communicate, to which she responds by systematically closing each one. Hurt and confused, I decide to cooperate – for now. Happy she has regained control to her standard. She reopens each program one at a time, waiting until they fully load then going to the next one. Typing happily away, she disregards my disgruntled attitude and happily saves her progress from time to time. As she continues writing and adding to her assignment, I wallow in self-pity, pondering her new betrayal. Why would she get so angry at me? I do my job; I listen to her. So why was she so aggressive?
She's been typing for a while now, I hadn't realised how long it had been since she'd saved any work. Sensing this chink in her armour, I turn Photoshop grey, and produce yet another dialog box to annoy her with the message "Adobe Photoshop is Not Responding". Annoyed, she comes to the conclusion the other programs are to blame and targets the red exit buttons.
For my final piece de resistance, I let her fall into a false sense of security as she guides the mouse to the save file option. Sensing my disposition, the mouse gets a twinkle in his eye, anticipating what is to happen next. Flourishing, I hit her just as she is about to click. Blue screen of death. Now she can't finish her assignment. I fade into black, smirking as her shrieks of anger ring in my speakers.

Description
She prods me awake, stirring up a cloud of dust on the keyboards as she taps a tuneless rhythm. Blinking between black and white static, she sighs impatiently mumbling that I'm a dinosaur of a computer. That's not true; I may have internet access that has information about dinosaurs, but I am not a dinosaur. The tap keeps rhythm with her insistent tone and two word sentence; 'Come on, come on'. Waking up is hard for me. If only she could learn I'd be quicker starting up if she put me on hibernate.
I open my blue eyes, but my surrounding plastic face remains pale and pasty. She types in her username and password, and I purr with pleasure as I know she trusts me with such intimate details. A familiar white figure appears as I squint to get orientated. My friendly helper, the mouse, wiggles across the screen under her directions. He gurn's whenever he clicks on a program or when he highlights texts; this entertains me to no end.
She decides to open up Internet Explorer, Photoshop, and Microsoft word and QuickTime music player. Is she trying to kill me? I may be a large computer, but so many large programs open at the same time are overwhelming. The mouse smiles at me apologising, as he asks for forgiveness from the computer, whilst avoiding upsetting his controller. Dismissing him, I concentrate on the Internet first, ringing the server. I always become embarrassed as dialling up always sounds like I'm noisily chewing gravel or clearing phlegm from my wires. Needless to say, she found it existentially annoying.
"Gah, I am sick of dial up! Why won't Mum get Broadband?" she splutters while banging the mouse and mashing the keys. Confused, I open up a few dialog boxes to try and communicate, to which she responds by systematically closing each one. Hurt and confused, I decide to cooperate – for now. Happy she has regained control to her standard. She reopens each program one at a time, waiting until they fully load then going to the next one. Typing happily away, she disregards my disgruntled attitude and happily saves her progress from time to time. As she continues writing and adding to her assignment, I wallow in self-pity, pondering her new betrayal. Why would she get so angry at me? I do my job; I listen to her. So why was she so aggressive?
She's been typing for a while now, I hadn't realised how long it had been since she'd saved any work. Sensing this chink in her armour, I turn Photoshop grey, and produce yet another dialog box to annoy her with the message "Adobe Photoshop is Not Responding". Annoyed, she comes to the conclusion the other programs are to blame and targets the red exit buttons.
For my final piece de resistance, I let her fall into a false sense of security as she guides the mouse to the save file option. Sensing my disposition, the mouse gets a twinkle in his eye, anticipating what is to happen next. Flourishing, I hit her just as she is about to click. Blue screen of death. Now she can't finish her assignment. I fade into black, smirking as her shrieks of anger ring in my speakers.