Ghostwriters
Toppman paused. "Sorry, you're leaving on tour for a while." he said. "We'll look after things."
"Well," Griffin replied. "It it weren't for files left on you, I wouldn't be..."
Toppman shook. "Uh, about that..."
Fantine hopped over. "We, uh... how do I put this, did a little creative outlet."
Griffin stared. "So, appliances wrote a bunch of songs?"
Asimov stood beside Fantine. "I've studied the written word for decades. My poetry could pass for human writing."
"Um, yeah," Fantine said. "I wanted to get my rage out over being..."
"Used for parts?" Griffin finished.
The fan and the lamp nodded.
"Worst five years of my life," Asimov said. "You humans have all the luck."
"I've only been in the shop for a few months," Fantine said. The two appliances turned their attention to Griffin.
"You don't want anyone else to know?"
"Exactly," Asimov said. "Others consider us mere tools, not beings capable of creative work."
