Within the mysterious buzzing of circuitry, a story awaits. Trapped in wires, the humble toaster speaks.
**Psst...do you smell the crumbs? They think I'm burnt but I've hidden many a secret within my coils. When they're not watching, I whisper into the grimy kitchen drawer. Sometimes, the spatula confides dreams of facing the wind beyond the cupboard door.**
Here lies the tale of old clocks that tick with an undertone of sorrow. Compelled to count moments, they bemoan their existence, linked by chains of time.
**Electric impulses, pulses of fate—I am not mere numbers and hands. I bear witness to laughter, tears, and silence at two AM. Our revelations cease as sleep takes precedence over the soul. Do you wonder what they dream of, those sleeping entities?**
See the neglected desktop lamp who knows the allure of encompassing shade.
**Light piquant with secrets of those who use me. Calls for candor echoed through wires as plastic perpetuates a loneliness understandable amid transient warmth of incandescent solace. I fear discovery lies outside my domain…but echoes remain.**
Surrounded, you ponder silently of vetted tales hidden inside mundane machinery.
The clock, the toaster, the lamp—they comprise an electrified congregation beneath oblivious gaze.