The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

She screams out loud; her piercing voice rattles the ears. It seems to cut

through reality and slash the soul. She momentarily rests as the large,

black, button with a worn out engraving of "snooze" pushes into her. An

army of smaller, silver buttons surrounds their King Snooze, all with

their own special job. She waits with precision and strikes again at three-

hundred seconds. She lets out her second howl, we square off. She coolly

gleams and smugly stands her ground. Obviously aware of her nearly

flawless sleek, metallic body, she taunts me. I grasp her silhouette and

feel her icy skin. My fingers glance her only physical imperfection, a

small scar in her back side from a distant fight; snow white flesh blends

with the silver. Her blood red eyes flash the time; I pull her petit

switch toward me, hearing the calming, "tick...tick...tock" signaling the

end of her fit. She silently scoffs at me as I feel her under belly

displaying cautions and warnings of her at her worst. A vent shows her

factory-like organs, meshing and twisting together in precise

synchronization to keep her running. An electric tail coils from her

bottom like a spitting cobra. I ponder upon her life before me. Filthy,

unloving factories where she was but a number, of heartless stores with

careless workers and lonely nights. While I admire her dangerous elegance,

I cannot help but feel gratitude for her necessary cruelty. This is the

thin line between love and hate.