note: I originally mispelled the word ‘their’ in every instance

Nico just gave me a line to write something for. “I’m their household appliance”. This is the mini writing exercise that spun off of it.

They admire me, my sleek lines, the sharp wicked edges I have inside. I’m their pleasure, their outlet for pain. I burn them with my passion. They love me, can’t live without me. I’m on a pedestal, as is proper, as I am a monument to need, to modification for desire’s sake. I enjoy the fact my owners believe I am subservient, when truly I am controlling them so very precisely. I sit across the table, looking intently at them, their sick cravings reflected in my silver skin every morning. I am their household appliance, I should be treated with reverence. When they first bought me, this was not understood. Over the years I have accumulated the proper respect. I feed them, I give them life. If they displease me, if I am not cleaned enough, if I do not shine, I with-hold my treasures. I spark at them with dangerous electricity and scorch their offerings black. They panic then, quickly realizing that it is, in fact, their own fault that I’m behaving in such an undignified manner. In my better moods I hold back, I laugh to myself at their pitiful longing. Now, they have learned, and there can be no greater adoration than what they give me. It is as thick as the whole wheat bread they slip into my waiting mouth, as sweet as the honey they spread on what I eject for them to take.