The Second Time I Saw A Chair in the Snow

This one was artificially green, and poked through the snow like a tree. There were no leaves though. A voice in the side of my head said, “It ain’t a tree if it ain’t got leaves,” and all I could do was nod my head in agreement. The plastic was old, and erosion had etched a swath of marks along its limbs. I could only feel sadness for this chair. I thought to myself of the abuse and neglect – how nobody had put the chair into a storage shed before the snow had fallen! It was simply disgraceful.

I stared out of the Ski Lodge with an angry temperament. I looked down at my hand, and noticed that it was curled together into a tight fist. Was I that mad? What could have incited such passionate feelings by simply witnessing a chair being snowed upon? I turned away, unable to bear the cruelty occurring outside. I stared at the great fireplace, and watched as the log burned and burned. Ashes fell and flames crackled. Logs in Fire did not elicit such emotions as the wretchedness of a chair in snow.

I began to shake, rapidly shake, convulsing as if I were having a seizure. I steadied myself by grabbing onto a chair, but I still shook with vigor. I closed my eyes and attempted to breath deep breaths, but all I could see in my eyelids were markups of white specks falling onto chair shapes on the floor of my eyelids. This was it, nothing could hold me back.

“The Chairs!” I yelled, “The Chairs!” People stared at me. My mom, deeply concerned, walked over to me and hugged me, asking me if I was alright.

“The Chairs!” I continued. “They are tormented! They are abused!”

And that was it. I blinked, and before I knew it, I was covered in snow.