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
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.