Alternative Culture Magazine


Alternative Literature



A Chair Once More

by A. D. MacDonald

My wife had bought me the chair many years ago, in response to my boisterous complaints about the old one. It was a rather generic looking thing, but I cared more about its level of comfort than I did about its aesthetic qualities. When I sat on it for the first time it seemed to change shape and conform to the contours of my spine. I was most pleased with my new toy, and it served me well throughout the years.

Time passed, and gradually my chair began to become more firm and less comforting. No longer did the chair swivel on its base, nor did the soft pads fit my back. The chair wobbled on its aging legs, and once I can remember it being so severe that I lost my balance and fell to the floor. I decided then that it was time to part company with my old friend, and so one fateful August day the time came.

I walked into the room bright room, and I mused that it was too pleasant a day for such a farewell. The chair looked up at me, smiling innocently. I shook my head and began to speak.

"My friend, our time together is over. You've held up nobly, and I commend you for that. But now that time is over," I said softly as the chair burst into tears. "Listen, your life isn't over. I'm sure the dump has a great deal of chairs; perhaps you will find chairs with common interests."

The chair sniveled in front of me, and my heart broke. I went to go soothe the chair, but as I reached out it knocked me over and ran out the door. I stumbled to my feet and gave chase to it, and we ran about the house. The furniture watched as we ran past them, and I heard the sofa and the lamp placing bets on our little race.

I cornered the chair in the kitchen with a grin, and it began trembling as I walked slowly towards it. I went to grab the chair, but it eluded my grip by jumping onto the kitchen counter. I made another grab at it, but it threw itself through the window, landing hard on the concrete on the ground outside. I shielded my eyes from the shards of glass with my arm, and I looked to see the chair making its way from the backyard to the front. An idea struck me, and I sprinted to the front door. I opened the door in hopes to cut the chair off. I launched myself off of the steps as it ran across the lawn, barely grazing its hind leg. I stood up and ran after it.

I chased the chair over fences, down streets and across lawns. I was beginning to tire, but luckily the chair tripped on a pothole in the ground, sending it skidding across the road. I pounced upon it, wrestling it into submission. As luck would have it, a police car came to a slow stop in front of us. The chair was feisty, and I could have much used some help in subduing the wicked fellow. The policeman stepped out of the car, and I was about to explain the situation to him when the chair spoke first.

"Officer, this man is crazy! He chased me about, and now he holds me down!" the chair cried out, and I was shocked by the audacity of the naughty chair. To my surprise, the officer placed handcuffs around my wrists. They took me back to my house and brought me to my workstation. The chair pushed me down onto my hands and knees, and I felt paralyzed. The chair then sat on my back, and began typing feverishly on my computer.

Slowly I began to open my eyes from my sleep, and I became at once aware of my reality. No longer was a chair on my back, but rather a man of flesh and blood. I sighed; a chair once more.

"Honey, dinner's ready," a voice called from the elsewhere, and the man stood up and walked out of the room. He closed the door behind him, leaving me painfully alone.


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