By Manic Meillionen
Teksta howls at the moon. He sings songs to me in my sleep. A clever robotic puppy, but he doesn't belong to me. Teksta, he's my sister's toy.
Me, all I wanted was something less intelligent than Teksta. I didn't want a robot who could apologise for making rude noises. Nor did I need my toy to eat a souless plastic bone. But he's clever isn't he? Yes, Teksta's clever, and my sister is the one who tells teksta to walk, to talk, to sing. She is powerful, and knows how to order the robot around. I had no Teksta, I wanted a robotic turtle. A turtle which I could order to walk, and to be responsive. I never got to order that robot around.
So now I am different. She has the power over the machine in Teksta. If she is angry she can tell teksta what to do. He is dead and feels nothing, so he won't mind. I had to rely on threatening others with choice bits of rage. I don't think they enjoyed it. I know I wouldn't have liked being told when to sing and when to cry. But if I had a robot or if I had had a robotic turtle things might have changed.