This is a story to raise awareness of the unfair abuse of laptops that takes place daily in many civilized countries. I am extremely cruel to my poor laptop, expecting her to survive while being constantly abused and dragged around on a cable. I have since realized my cruelty and hope to spread awareness through this post. Beatrice, this one is for you.


You see, I’ve come to realize that all the cables plugged into my lappy, Beatrice, when at my desk are life lines. They’re similar to IV’s or respiration machines or other kinds of machines that keep her flowing with life giving electricity. But I show no regard for this dependence. Whenever I find it convenient, I savagely rip the cords out of their sockets, with no regard to the pain and suffering it causes Beatrice. I imagine she lets out a dramatic tinny computer scream, or perhaps a quiet pathetic whimper, that is not audible to human ear. Her hard drive mind is racing, fraught with worry about from whence her next electric meal will come, or if it will ever come. But I care not, because I want to go sit on a comfy couch.

Beatrice then only has 3 hours to live. I do my best to make her life more efficient and comfortable, like dimming the screen and putting her it on conservative power settings, so I can squeeze every last bit of life out of her dying body. I idly play games and write silly messages, ignorant to the fact that my lappy is rasping out her last breaths. She tries to please me, jumping through my hoops and doing all the tasks I set her to do, hoping that maybe, this time, her sadistic master will reward her with safety. But I reward her not, and continue to drain her life force.

Eventually, with a final sigh, she utters her last words- “Battery power is low. Switch to a power source.” This is really a call for help, for pity, a last effort to make her needs known; I, the unfeeling human, treat this with utter disregard, bleeding my poor lappy dry. She sighs one last sigh, screen flickering until it finally fades to black, and retreats into the quiet solitude of death.

Finally, I plug her back in. She responds little, so I do computer cpr and push her power button until, with a wild gasp, she jumps back to life, screen blazing and motor running. She is finally secure again, if only briefly, and breathes a sigh of relief as I plug her back into her life giving cables, allowing her to catch her breath and revive. But she can never live in peace; Beatrice always lives in a state of constant fear, not knowing when I will chose to wrench her from her comfortable home on my desk and drain all of the life from her once more.

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