The old typewriter had a mind of its own.
Sam removed another sheet of paper, put in a blank one and started again. Happy Birthay Aunty Mel, she typed. She paid close attention to hitting the keys she meant to hit. For the third time, the words on the page came out different.
Her curiosity stoked, Sam kept typing.
The typewriter didn’t have a mind of its own. It had tapped into Sam’s mind, giving an airing to thoughts she’d bottled up.
Oi you thieving cow,
I wish I had the words to express how much your sis and I hate you.
Tell Dad I said hello.