Asgn 12. Brave Little Toasters: Harrison I.

              Tick, tick, tick. The little black box on the night stand listens intently to the sound of its own heartbeat,  counting off each beat. 32, 33, 34. It is still early morning, the house is still quiet, all except for the snoring of the human in his bed, the monotonous dripping of the leaky tap downstairs, and the ever continuing, steady ticking that filled the ears of the little black box. 45, 46, 47. The box notices how the normally bright and cozy room looks so much more foreboding at night. With the blackness broken by nothing except for its own bluish light emanating from its face, freakish outlines of once familiar objects, seemed to jump out at the little black box. Nervously ignoring the now apparent gazes of the menacing teddy bear, and the malicious coffee machine, the little box continues to count its heart beat, its time nearly up. 57, 58, 59, 60. 6:00 am. The little box takes and deep breath, checking its speakers, and lets out an ear piercing scream that echoes throughout the entire house, like clockwork.