China DOS Union

I am the case of a computer. Hmm, actually I don't really know what I should call myself. Anyway, when it comes to all the big and small parts inside this computer, other people usually can't see them. If they need to look at something, according to the rules here, they have to go through me first before anything can be passed along.

Of course, I'm not the authority organ of our computer—they just use me to find people. You can call me the front desk. The name "shell" is kind of rustic, but it's also correct, hehe. Actually, among all the parts of this computer, I'm almost the least valuable one. The difference in worth between me and the CPU is nearly 20 to 100 times. Sometimes I really find it strange too: we're both just pieces of metal, so why is the difference so huge?

But whenever outsiders come look at our computer, what I like hearing most is those official-looking people saying:
Look, your computer is really nice.
Actually, they're only seeing my pretty appearance , they have no idea that all the parts inside our computer look weird and dusty, hehe.

As far as I know, there really are a lot of people in this world who judge a computer only from their impression of us cases, instead of, whenever they want to understand a computer, asking like an expert: which manufacturer made the CPU? What qualifications does the CPU have? How is the memory performance? Is the motherboard architecture good? What??? The motherboard came from manufacturer xx? Then the compatibility probably isn't that good. I heard that manufacturer xx... shh, don't say these things to the other parts.

Besides that, my usual task is to keep the computer looking neat on the outside. That's an important part of my job, so when I'm on duty I also like to look in the mirror now and then, put on a little makeup and so on. Oh right, I don't know why the books on the desk always look at me so strangely. We're all girls, so why don't they like looking in the mirror and putting on makeup? They must be jealous of me

The one I get along with best, embarrassing as it is to say, is only the rag. She doesn't belong to this computer. She serves the whole desk, and every now and then she even goes to help at other desks. When she has nothing to do, she takes the initiative to come chat with me. She envies me; I can tell. She always listens patiently while I talk about my computer or interesting things about myself. When I get tired of talking and let her talk instead, she refuses to say much. If she does say anything, it's always the same repeated story, that the daughter of some friend of hers works as a handkerchief for a rich lady, and how glorious and noble that is. At times like that I always think she's really funny, taking something none of us could ever do and turning it into her own amusement. If she weren't so old, I would have become good friends with her.

I don't have any good friends. Even though the hard disk and memory work on the same computer as me, I'm really very different from them. I don't know what they're always secretly fiddling with all day in that dark room. Sometimes I try to make conversation with them too. At times like that memory says some nice-sounding things, but they're no use. The hard disk always smiles first, then says nothing. The worst is the CPU. Whenever I talk to him, not only can he never figure out what I do, but as soon as he sees that I don't have so much as a data cable or even a single wire on me, he turns his head and walks away

Hmph, I don't know what's so great about those ghostly data cables and precious wires they have on them. Take the sound card, for example. When he first came, I heard he'd been trained for a long time at some famous manufacturer, was worth a great deal, and was a specialist in handling some kind of work. Never mind the data cable and all that—for the driver installation alone, the owner spent two hours on him. And then as soon as he started working, the whole room let out ghost-like screams. It made our owner so angry he never used him again. It was only later, when a friend of the owner's came, that he started being used again. They said his bad performance before was only a speaker problem, and they changed the speaker. I think they were probably just giving the sound card a way to save face. Someone like me, now, even though I only need a few screws to be installed, has never once made a mistake while working, hmph hm~~~~~

Speaking of the hard disk, he has plenty of data cables and things on him too, but he's pretty good. He never despises me because of that. He's very kind. Whenever some work can't be done quickly, everyone pushes it onto him. The easy work, the CPU gives to memory or someone else. The sound card, the graphics card, all of them always bully him too. I asked him, you have just as many data cables and wires on you, so why don't you resist? He always just smiles. Maybe that's what they call personality, I think.

Then one day, several of them were having a meeting. The network card kept saying to the CPU: the owner needs to download a movie now. The CPU, in a difficult position, tried to persuade the hard disk to squeeze out a little more space. The hard disk had already been working nonstop for months without a rest, and with a red face said it might not fit, but the mouse and keyboard were both absolutely relentless about it. I got furious when I saw those two. Wasn't it just because when the president watches movies, you two get to rest? What a bunch of tiny parts!! I rushed in and shouted, Big brother hard disk, if there's something you can't fit over there, put it in me, I'll keep it for you. The whole computer fell silent for half a minute, and then there broke out the biggest roar of laughter in this computer's history.

I cried. Not only because they laughed at me, but also because afterward the hard disk didn't even say a single word to comfort me. The rag secretly wiped my tears for days, but later on I forgave the hard disk very quickly, including the other parts too. I'm not a part with a good memory. I'm not like the hard disk. He always keeps so, so many things in his heart. The rag said there were an astonishing number of things in there, even more than all the books on the desk put together. I don't know how many things are inside those shabby books, but I believe what the rag says. The rag looks dirty, but she actually knows a lot.

I forgave the hard disk, but I still felt bad about his melancholy. Later the rag said to me that the reason my own discomfort came and went was because I only built up a little static electricity, and with a careful wipe it was quickly released. But in the hard disk's case, that electricity all flowed through those wires into the deepest part of his heart, and was very hard to let out. The rag couldn't name those wires or tell what they were for, but she could tell that what flowed through them was all pain. She said that for parts like the CPU and memory, pain comes quickly and is released quickly too. Only parts with a personality like the hard disk's bury pain in their hearts. The rag also said that for a part like the hard disk, even if you wipe him, he still might not be able to release the pain.

I'm not the rag, and I can't release the electricity in the hard disk's heart. After that I stopped talking to the hard disk, but I kept silently watching the changes in him. I thought that he and I could never possibly be linked together, but when I saw his silent face, I still felt bad for him. Sometimes I thought, how nice it would be if some part could make him happy

One day, a pretty girl came to visit our owner, and she brought with her a completely different kind of computer. All I could see was that her computer was so thin and so small, and looked so beautiful, so slender, so dazzling on the outside, that even my confidence in my own appearance was shaken. The rag stood beside me too with wide eyes, staring in surprise. She had never seen that kind of computer either. At first she wanted to go over and serve them, but was politely stopped by their mistress. I paid special attention to that computer's outer shell. She didn't seem to have any wires or data cables on her either, but I could tell she must also have been cultivated over a long time by some very famous manufacturer, so there was always a trace of arrogance in her expression. She also wasn't as distant from the other parts of their computer as I am with ours. She could chat and laugh with them very easily. That must be what they call temperament, I thought.

Very soon, something even more jealousy-inducing happened. The owner connected a cable between their computer and ours, and suddenly, to my surprise, I found the hard disk becoming especially happy. Those few days he was very lively, and talked much more than usual. He even took the initiative to ask the sound card to play music. And every now and then he'd inexplicably ask me: what do you think of their computer? The rag said to me that the only possibility was that he'd met someone who could understand him and whom he could also understand. I just couldn't understand that. The rag, like me, couldn't read what was being passed through that cable, so how could she make such blind guesses? During those few days, I desperately tried to understand what was flowing inside that cable, and why it made the hard disk so excited, but I couldn't see it. And all that did was slowly let the static electricity in my heart build up.

The jealousy in my heart began growing madly. I thought the hard disk must have fallen for their computer's shell. I said to the rag that their computer's shell was really such a show-off, all thin and flat and black and ugly, what's so nice about that The rag agreed with me very much. Then I went on and said the hard disk wasn't any good either. The hard disk was really cheap, really cheap—for us parts, that's a very nasty thing to say. So the rag told me not to say it anymore, and gently wiped me. I only hoped those days would end soon.

At last it finally ended. One day, that computer's mistress came bouncing over to unplug the cable. The moment her hand touched me, she was shocked by electricity and jumped up right away. I heard her curse, and then say to our computer's owner: You should hurry up and get a notebook instead. Your computer is hopelessly old-fashioned! What, she wanted him to replace us? I was stunned. And she even made a face at him? Disgusting

But soon afterward, the owner really did decide to change computers. Everyone was going to split up. I watched as they stopped having meetings all day and instead busied themselves anxiously looking for their own future, and I felt an indescribable pain in my heart. I had nothing to do. I didn't want to go anywhere. I only wanted to quietly watch the hard disk by myself and spend the last of my time with him.

The owner didn't seem to care much about the other parts, but he was especially polite to the hard disk, as if he hoped to move some things from him over to the new computer. I didn't know what those things inside the hard disk were, the things more numerous than books, but I had never seen the hard disk's face so red before.

Could it be that having some of his memories taken away hurt him even more than having work forced onto him?

Later on, for some reason, the hard disk simply refused to give them up. The owner worked on it all night, and many of his friends came to help too, but there was still no way. At dawn the owner became furious and said he was going to format him. Later he even threatened to smash him. In the end he still decided to send the hard disk to a scrap shop for recycling.

On the day the hard disk left, I was removed and placed in the middle of a pile of odds and ends. I didn't get to see him, nor was I able to send him off. The rag saw him one last time. The rag told me that in the end the owner had still become emotional, and had the rag carefully wipe the hard disk once. With his final chance, the hard disk said to the rag that he hated neither the owner nor any of the other parts, and that he had no more regrets. He said he only hated that he had too many memories, and therefore too many expectations. He said that in the next life he wished to become a case even bigger than me, so he could protect me properly from the outside.

Later on, after the rag wiped me once too, I left as well, and from then on I never saw them again.

The only thing my machine can brag about now is the case. It's like a little tank. I figure even if Yao Ming stood on it and did a dunk, it'd probably be fine, ^_^

Awesome! Mine can't even be called a case anymore..

Now you're envious, huh!!!

I've been envious for a long time already. I was just short of falling flat in total admiration..