SHORT STORY (THE CHAIR)

THE CHAIR
My beloved chair is always there. People say that I am a psycho, and obsessed with this chair, maybe they are right. Others say that I appreciate antiques considering this poor chair a precious antique. I do not know. I simply like this chair, no, no, I actually love this chair. Reasons for this strange bond between a man and a lifeless thing are many; still they are not strong enough. Let me tell you the story of this chair.

As far as I can remember, I remember the uncomfortable wooden chair on which my mother used to make me stand on in order to help me wear my clothes. Back then I was occupying myself by tapping my feet till she finishes. That was a long time ago, but I can clearly remember when I was sitting alone and hungry. I was not able to reach the cake plates high up on the shelf. The chair was there; it did not move but called silently for me to use it. I used the wooden thing to reach the tasty food and kept on eating till I became full. From this time on, I began to love the chair.

I also remember when my father fainted on it, and I left him in the caring hands of my mother to run and fetch the doctor. Unfortunately, when I reached home we realized what happened from the crowd outside, and the lamenting voice of my mother. These violent cries told me that dad will continue his life in another world.

I was fourteen years old, one year after my father's death. Suddenly my mom slipped and hit her head against the frame of this monster. It took no time till her blessed blood spread allover the floor. It was not a simple injury; there were no drops but a bid spot of blood that kept growing wider and wider. My throat decided to interrupt my gaze at that scene with a high scream. I forgot all about his advantages and began to consider it an omen, but I did not remove it from my house. For real I was afraid of touching it.

Day after day I re-loved it after a strange but a simple accident. A thief entered the house while I was sleeping. The accident -lucky me- made him hit his leg against the chair because of the darkness. I woke up to find him standing in front of me with a clasp knife in his hand, and an enormous grin revealing his damaged yellow teeth. Of course, I was frightened and did not know what to do. The chair silently, as before, gave me the answer. So, I ordered my leg to hit the chair in order to hide the midsection of that scary thief. Believe it or not it worked, and I took the chance by holding the chair with both hands giving the lying body powerful wallops by the chair. I caused him a lot of pains. However, the chair got out of the fight as a winner with no damages at all.

It saved my life and I was very grateful to it. I remember when I used to be ill with nobody by my side carrying my medicines except it. Why should I refer to the chair as an It? He is my friend, a very faithful friend. His usual place next to the window used to tell me the time through his shadow. He never obliged to carry my weight on his thin and strong four legs. The reason of death is something divine; it is inexplicable, because the wisdom of this action is not for our narrow minds to understand. But, I do believe that without this chair I would have been dead. It was the tool of my salvation. Now, I am sure that I want to die sitting in this uncomfortable wooden chair.
written by MUSTAFA ADEL