Mr. Coopler stared at the large, greenish-grey metal box he had just unpacked with no small amount of confusion.
I was roughly the size of a mid-range file cabinet, and had no noticeable outlets.
The only distinguishing mark was a medium sized red button located slightly left of the center on what Mr. Coopler had to assume was the front of The Box.
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, the idea of pushing the button made him very, very nervous.
There was no return address, and the packing slip was less than helpful. He was able to decipher that The Box was ordered from a website, “cocodual.jp”, but when Mr. Coopler attempted to look up more information, he quickly found himself stymied.
The entire site was in Japanese.
Despite this lack of resolution, life continued apace for Mr. Coopler, and The Box became mere background noise.
A conversation piece. Or at least it would be, if anyone was ever inclined to have a conversation with Mr. Coopler. Which no one ever was…
One night, Mr. Coopler awoke with a start from an unsettling dream.
Pacing his apartment in groggy disquiet, he found himself facing The Box, which had been moved to a corner of his workroom.
The red button seemed to glow in the darkness.
Mr. Coopler felt an odd stirring, almost as if the button was calling to him.
“That’s insane”, he said out loud, as if putting voice to his concerns did anything to dismiss what help like natural instinct.
His arm stretched and his finger extended outward. Not knowing what was about to happen, he at least gave himself credit for being decisive. Whatever happened next, it was his choice.
He pressed the button.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then, through a now opened slot that in its dormant state was so smooth as to be previously invisible, a metallic yet strangely warm voice issued forth.
“I love you.”
Tears streaming down his eyes, Mr. Coopler hugged the machine.
It was his best birthday ever.
Pryorball. 