The Third Time I Saw A Chair in the Snow

So riveting the first two experiences had been that by my third sighting of a chair in the snow I had already become desensitized. All innocence, all ignorance, was lost. I could see the nasty sight now in 3-D. With red and blue 3-D eyeglasses embedded in my pupils, I could now see that the chairs were not individual organisms plopped into the open wilderness as I had originally thought, but pasteurized plastic products produced in excess, wasting away as they were originally intended too. Like clockwork, they would be placed here and there, prodded there and here, sat on here, sat on there, stored here and finally ditched in the woods out there.

They would move.

Not by themselves, but by others. The snow was nearly a product of negligence, and not a beginning in itself. The sight was still cold and desolate, but there was reason and there was cause.

That night, the snow stopped. The heaps of snow weighing down upon the chairs froze and gave the flailing limbs of the chairs a cake like appearance. There was happiness in the white hue. The moon shone onto the snow, reflecting the anxiety and madness ingrained in the molecules of oppressed plastic in a thousand directions. One ray burst through a crevice in the shutters of my room. It was a blue laser that held more than light.

I could not sleep.