I didn't type this. My laptop did.

The human was a grumpy old lady.

She hated her life. She hated her house. She hated the weather. She hated her walking stick. In turn, they all hated her too. She has been growing grumpier by the day because she could no longer sleep well at night. She started drinking tea every night because the doctors precisely told her not to.
The cup was not particularly happy about it.

In fact, the cup loathed her. And the table loathed the cup.

“Would you please try to stop spilling tea over me every time?” said Table one day.

“Hey, it’s not my fault she can’t handle me. I’m too hot to handle,” said Cup.

“You just cannot hold your drink, can you?”

“No use crying over spilled tea. Here she comes.”

“Hello guys! I am Mr Cigarette. Such a wonderful morning!”

The cigarette was being stupid, of course. It was not a wonderful morning. In fact all cigarettes were stupid and full of rot. Cup and Table never speak to them. They knew what was coming next. Stupidity does not deserve death. Or maybe it does if some objects are extremely stupid.

Right after Cigarette, followed Lighter.

“Oh hello Mr. Lighter, I am Cigarette. How do you…. OH MY GOD!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!  STOP, YOU ARE BURNING ME.... TOO HOT, TOO HOT, THIS IS TOO HOT… NOOOO”

“You happy, Lighter?  How many are you planning to kill off today?”

“Oh boo hoo, Cup. I am on fire!  Bring on the next one!”

Cigarette continues to shriek but no one pays attention. That is only because everybody is already half-deaf thanks to the old lady’s love of shouting at the phone.

“You are sick, Lighter,” says Table, “I bear the ashes of your killings. Every day the human leaves a new mark of every fallen cigarette on me.”

“JUST GONNA STAND THERE AND WATCH ME BURN? BUT THAT'S ALRIGHT BECAUSE I LIKE THE WAY IT HURTS”

“Oh shut up,” snapped Lighter.

“Tell me, Lighter,” said Cup, “what happens when your fuel runs out?”

“I become even lighter.”

The old lady brought a newspaper, pen and her reading glasses to the table and pulled out a chair. 

“Aaah,” she groaned, lowering onto the chair.

“Aaah,” creaked the chair.

Glasses was old and out of shape.  He had a nasty fracture but was repaired with a simple surgery involving duct tape. He was wise. A little unhinged, but wise indeed. He can read things. He even read between the lines. But sometimes he had very erratic mood swings. That’s because he suffered from bifocal disorder.

“Morning, Glasses,” chorused every object in the vicinity.

“Morning, kids. Cup, have you been up all night?”

“Yes. I have got bags under my eyes.”

“Sorry, I’ll leave,” said the teabags and jumped into a nearby bin.

Meanwhile, Pen and Newspaper were bickering in the background.

“You are tickling me. And hurting me. STOP!” shrieked Newspaper.

“You are just a show-off. You show up with a tough crossword but cry like a blotting paper.”

“Hey, stop pointing! This really hurts. There is a reason why they say you are mightier than a sword.”

“Stop blowing us away, Newspaper,” said Glasses, “you are not letting me read properly.”

But the newspaper had had enough. It threw caution to the wind and flew away with it out the window.

“Damn it!” shouted the human. She got up and closed the window.

“Hey slow down lady,” creaked the Window, “do not bang me so hard.”

“Tell me about it,” said Curtain, “She is so rough, I am hanging by a thread here.”

“She doesn't know she can be such a pane in the glass.  We need to be more open,” complained Window. Glancing around, he noticed a new guest eavesdropping. “Say, who are you?” asked Window.

“P.S. I Love You,” said the guest.

“Woah! Back off, missy. When I said we need to be more open, I was not talking to you.”

“Oh no, no. It is my name, see?” The guest shut herself and showed them her cover. “You can call me Book. I am visiting from the library.”

“Oh! How are you?” said Window.

“I’m lots of things, Window. I’m lonely, I’m tired, I’m sad, I’m happy, I’m lucky, I’m unlucky; I’m a million different things every day of the week. But I suppose OK is one of them.”

Window and Curtain merely looked at each other and shrugged. Some books are full of drama.

But P.S. I Love You was not just any book. P.S. I Love You was an amazing book. She made grown men cry like little girls. She made little girls cry harder. She brought old-fashioned letters back in fashion. She also brought treasure hunt back in fashion. Humans even made a movie based on it. Of course, humans also made the book in the first place.

“That is a pretty cover page you have got there, Book,” came a serene voice from above. They looked up. It was the tube light. ”Thank you, Mr Tube Light.”

“Please, call me Light.”

The tube light was high in the room. Also, it was placed high on the wall. He liked to think he was all-knowing. He was an advocate for brightness, peace and happiness. Also for overcoming world’s biggest problems such as power cuts and loss of humor. Admittedly the tube light was always late in understanding a joke but that’s okay because it finds everything funny anyway.

“Stay away from him,” whispered Window to Book, “Light is nuts. Especially crazy when turned on.”

“Ignore Window, Book,” said Light. He had heightened senses and could hear whispers easily. “Window is just going through a mid-life crisis. His nails are old and rusty, and the wood is growing mould.”

“Screw you, Light,” shouted out the nails. “Hey there Light, fellow green-lover,” chorused the mould. “Ooble wable gablululu,” came a muffled voice from the wood beneath the mould.

Luckily, Book was spared from replying to anyone because the grumpy old lady decided to read her and took her to the bedroom with a box of tissues and settled on the bed. The mattress was a friendly fellow. The tissue was Book’s fellow friend. Production of tissues increased dramatically since P. S. I Love You was released and you would hardly find the book without its fellow friend.

“Hello fellow friend. And hello friendly fellow,” said Book.

“Hi, my name is Matt,” said the mattress.

“Matt? Isn’t your name Mattress?” asked Tissue.

“It was but I was tired of people assuming that’s my name. So I fashioned for me a new name. The name’s Russ, Matt Russ. Oh dear, why is she wetting me?”

No you idiots, the lady was old but she did not wet her bed. She was crying. Didn’t I just tell you she decided to read P.S. I Love You? P.S. I Love You wasn’t surprised. If anything, she was proud. She got to the toughest of them of them all.

“Oh no, here comes my end,” wailed the tissue. The old lady wiped away her tears with it. “I am so wet right now,” cried the tissue.

Couple of hours later, the tissue was completely soaked. Partly from the lady’s tears and partly from Tissue’s tears. The old lady took it to the bathroom where she started fixing her makeup.

“I have got the worst job in the whole world,” muttered Tissue sadly.

“Aaah bite me! I have the worst job in the world!” said Dentures inside a glass on the basin.

“I see you two cribbing. I do not see the person with the worst job in the world cribbing. What say, Dustbin?” said Lens in a solution next to Dentures.

“Alas, I only take shit from people. I do not give back,” said Dustbin.

“And you say that in the same room as me!” cried Toilet.

Everybody in the bathroom has terrible jobs, thought Tissue.

The old lady put on her lens, her dentures (“Yuck!” cried Dentures like it did routinely) and tossed the tissue into the bin. Every time the lady puts something into Dustbin, it makes Dustbin want to throw up. But if he ever had to throw up, he would only throw up inside. After all, he is Dustbin and whatever he pukes, he'll have to eat it all up anyway. Such is the tragedy of being a non-living object. Nobody gives a damn about your feelings.

- A story by Safwa's laptop