The Machine

The Machine started with a loud noise, showing off its power. It growled and got on with its job, cutting the hair, moving through it fierce and powerful. 

The man pressed it harder against his skin, he moved it up and down, urging it to cut more and faster. He shifted it to and fro, left and right, listening with pleasure to the sound of cutting hair. 

The machine felt powerful, catching each hair with its sharp, tiny, blades, shortening it just as much as its master desired. Suddenly though, it felt the hair slipping away and realized that was losing control. It moved over the thickness of hair instead of cutting them, since its blades were weak and did not cut anymore. 

The man seemed to notice. He stopped and pulling  away the machine he took some time to inspect it. Everything seemed to be okay, so he pressed the button again and placed the machine on his skin once more.

There was no loud noise this time as the machine began its work. It quivered and found the hair raising before it like a wall and it was unable to get through it. It yield all the inner power and will but even if it pressed and forced its blades on the hair,  nothing happened. 

The man breathed heavily and was clearly disappointed with the machine. It failed him, and he was no fan of failure. He placed his finger harder on the machine's button, hurting it. 

The growl was so low, almost quiet since the machine had already given all the strength that it had left inside it. It had nothing else to give. 

The man was relentless, ignoring the weak battery of the machine he kept moving it allover the hair, forcing it to do its job. 

And the machine did the best it can, managing to cut  some thin hair while crashing on the strong ones that battered it and weakened it. 

With its last dying shot of energy, the machine won the war against one more single hair.

Then the man heard something like a sizzle and the felt the machine dead in his hands.