The idea mainly comes from Ms. Shannon, who I thank and credit for what I've managed to come up with today. A future idea I am working on, however, will come from Ms. Skyler, so yes, you can look forward to more 'My Fantasia' blog posts in the future, if you're into that sort of thing.
This first short story is simply called: 'The Chair'. Here it is; you can read it below. (Oh, and please send me reviews, I appreciate the critique. :3 )
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“Why do you have such an old chair, Uncle Derrick?”
Derrick froze for a moment. He had completely forgotten about his niece, Meg, while he was caught up in the job of finishing up his college essay. His sister had asked him to watch the girl for the afternoon, and Derrick, of course, had absolutely no choice but to say yes because they were family. Never mind that he had a paper due the next day…but it was pretty much finished now, so he supposed he could turn his attention back to Meg for the moment.
“Why do I have such an old chair, you ask?” Derrick turned to face her, resting an arm on the back of said chair. “Well, this chair has many memories for me.”
“But it’s just a chair!” Meg frowned. “Mommy always complains about it when she’s here. She says you should get a new one.”
“Your mother was never the sentimental type.” Derrick retorted. “She lacks…a certain something required to hold onto things like these.” He patted the chair fondly. It was an old, wooden chair that looked as though it was on its last legs. However, it stood firm under Derrick’s weight. It had been doing so for almost twenty years.
Meg continued to frown; however, not satisfied with the answer she’d been given. “I still don’t see why you don’t get a more comfy one. That chair doesn’t look very comfy.”
“It doesn’t matter to me.” Derrick shrugged. “Like I said, this chair’s special. In fact…” He turned back towards his computer, doing one last spell check on the paper, then sending it to his printer. “Why don’t you and Mr. Chair get acquainted while I wait for my essay to print?”
“Nu-uh!” Meg shook her head. “I don’t want to hang out with a chair! It’s not like chairs can talk.”
“You’d be surprised.” Derrick gave her a friendly wink before making his way out of the room. Meg let out a high-pitched huff at this, deciding she’d punish her weird uncle later for making her ‘get acquainted’ with a chair, whatever that meant. Meg wasn’t very good with big words yet. However, curiosity started to bubble up within the girl as she peeked at the chair once more.
It was a simple chair, nothing more, right? Chairs were chairs, just like tables were tables and beds were beds. There was nothing more to them. Chairs only talked in fairy tales and Disney movies. “I’m not gonna talk to you!” Meg told the chair stubbornly. “I don’t care what Uncle Derrick says, chairs can’t talk!”
“Well, that’s awfully rude of you.”
Meg flinched as a voice seemed to sound out of nowhere. She looked around, figuring it was probably her uncle playing a prank on her. However, the voice had seemed to come almost directly from the chair…
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m talking to you, Ms. Meg.”
There! The voice had definitely come from the chair this time! Meg carefully took a step towards it, looking around to see if there was some sort of magical voice box that Derrick had placed onto the chair. However, it was still just the plain old wooden chair it had been before.
“Chairs aren’t supposed to talk.” Meg told the chair finally. “Chairs are ‘inaminate’.” She had heard her mother use a word like that before, though she had probably gotten it wrong.
“If chairs aren’t supposed to talk, then how am I talking to you?” The chair asked simply.
“I dunno.” Meg replied. “How are you talking to me? Are you a real chair?”
“Of course I’m a real chair. Bona fide, made in Taiwan, sit-worthy wooden chair, one of a set of over three thousand.” The chair seemed to be proud of this fact. “I’m likely the only one of my set that’s still around, so you’re very lucky to be seeing me.”
“You’re just a chair.” Meg retorted, her frown returning. “There’s nothing special about chairs.”
“Nothing special about chairs?” The chair’s voice took on a hurt tone. “Why, you haven’t even begun to see what a chair can do for a person! Why, we are the very backbone of nations! Presidents have sat upon our splendor! Do you think the Founding Fathers of our country would have been able to write the Constitution very well if they didn’t have a chair to sit on?”
“They could have stood.” Meg thought in response. “I’ve stood and written stuff before.”
“But you get tired.” The chair continued its rant. “And eventually you just really want a place to sit, right?”
“Guess so.” Meg admitted. “So…I guess chairs are alright after all.”
“Oh, that’s not even all we can do.” The chair let out a chuckle. “You see, providing a seat is only a beginner’s usage.” Then, the voice’s chair got real low, confidential. “Do you want me to teach you the secret about chairs?”
“Yes!” Meg’s eyes lit up and a grin reached her face. Being the young girl that she was, she loved hearing secrets of all kinds. “Tell me the secret!”
“Well…we chairs can become anything.” The chair told her. “Here, let me give you an example. You see those pencils up on the desk?”
“Yeah.” Meg nodded.
“Climb up on me and grab three of them.”
Meg did just that, hesitantly clambering onto the chair and standing on it with wobbly legs. She reached out and grabbed three of the pencils, then slid back down onto the floor. “Okay, now what?”
“First, face me.” The chair instructed her. “Then…close your eyes, and imagine your house.”
“My house?” Meg closed her eyes, trying to envision it. “Are you saying you can turn into my house?”
“In a manner of speaking. Now, imagine that the three pencils you’re holding in your hand aren’t really pencils at all. Pretend, just for a moment, that they are you, your mother and your father.”
“Okay…” Meg squeezed her eyes shut even tighter as she tried to picture her pencils as tiny little people in her hand. Eventually, she got a good mental picture of her family, standing in front of their house on a warm summer’s day, Frisbee being passed between them. She smiled at the memory. “Okay, I’m thinking of it.”
“Now open your eyes.” The chair ordered. Meg opened her eyes.
At first, all she saw was the chair and the pencils in her hand. But then, after a moment, she really saw them. The chair morphed, becoming her quaint two-story house with the slightly slanted roof, and the pencils became miniature people, growing hair and hands and feet and toys to play with. She held the pencils out, placing them on the ground where their front yard was, and she imagined.
“This is cool!” She finally said, after a couple minutes of imagining.
“Just wait until you see what else I can do.” The chair replied.
