I can resist the siren call. I know I can.

But from the glowing box, it calls to me, asking me to gaze upon its contents. To see flowing script and the iridescent jewels therein.

But no! I must resist! Tempt me not my love, for I am a weak soul, my will sapping as it calls to me again.

I hazard a glance in its direction. New words beckon me, promising me sexual prowess and virility.

Lies! All it offers is an empty shell of a life… ah but what a life!

Again it calls out, promising me untold fortunes, riches beyond imagination for little or no effort on my part.

Again, I turn away. I am spent from all the offers it has made to me. A little effort, multiplied by a thousandfold, becomes Herculean effort on my part.

I am tired, but I cannot rest. My mistress calls to me, asking me to talk to her at once.

With a wan smile, I shun her advances. Like all that the box offers, they are ethereal and unreal.

Finally, it calls to me with a friend’s voice, and I give in.

I turn and read his email in defeat.