Part of the Furniture
Two old chairs sat side-by-side facing the window. Arms worn, seats sagging, covers bleached by sunlight.
‘We used to talk. We used to look at one another. I remember when you used to notice me. You used to ask me me how I was. You said I was beautiful. Don’t you remember? You never talk to me anymore,’ said one chair to the other.
‘No. Not us. We never did. That was the humans,’ said the other chair. ‘We’re just chairs you daft bugger.’
‘Why don’t they then?’
‘Why don’t they what?’
‘The humans. Why don’t they talk, why don’t they look at one another? Why don’t they say nice things anymore? Don’t they care?’
‘I think they think they are chairs too.’