Broken Chair

It is a rocking chair. Old is it with tiny cracks in the maple wood. The brittle woven strings meant to be a seat are mostly broken with the exception of the edges. Nobody ever sits in it, afraid even the slightest pressure would cause the sad thing to crack. So there it is, not even really a rocking chair considering it hasen’t been rocked for near ten years.

The basement it sits in is cellar like, not finished or carpeted. The chair, alas, does not stand out from the other things in the room. They are all broken and abandoned too.

The objects hear a crash from upstairs and all of them silently wince, especially the old plates in the china set who now know that one of their kin have passed. Then comes the yelling, screaming and cursing. She’s says something to him. He’s says something to her. They can hear her sobs of anger, and his straining voice. They wish to cover their ears and to block it out but then again they can’t move.

Suddenly they hear course footsteps running down their stairs. They see her. Her face is red and puffy and her hair seems in a mess. Then they see him. He takes off his tie while still screaming at her. He stopes as if to catch his breath. The womans face twists into a snarl and she speaks in a low hurtful manor. He seemed madder then before and starts forward but in his drunkenness he stumbles. Forward he falls and sadly the chair who is old enough to be the walls brother is broken.