It is a beautiful summer day, middle of July. The sun is shining down, a cool breeze is blowing, the birds are chirping; a perfect day to go for a walk thought the owners of this lovely house. Three bears live here, Mama, Papa and their baby, Junior. Mama grabs her umbrella, Papa tightens his tie and Junior stands on his tip toes to reach his porridge on Enrique, the table just above me.
Who am I, you ask? I am Junior's kitchen table chair, Raptor, and this is my story. I was made in a factory in Detroit. The plan was that I, along with several other skillfully crafted kitchen chairs, and a few rocking chairs, were to be shipped to Philadelphia to be stocked on window display in Raymore and Flanigan there. Unfortunately for me, as we were passing through New York to make a stop for some less eloquent chairs at a local store there, the back of the truck unlocked and opened, and I, with my ill fitted straps, tumbled out of the back next to the woods of Central Park. There, I was picked up by Papa, who carried me back to his strange, yet very tasteful, home in a hollow tree.
From that point, my life was rather stable. Until today, that is, where there foundations of my life splintered into one thousand shards of broken hope.
Well, since it was such a nice day out, today, and the porridge that they made for lunch was still too hot, they family decided to go for a mid-afternoon stroll. This is when I noticed that they left the door unlocked, but alas I was powerless to alert them, for I was designed to be sat upon, not alert the family over potential dangers in the home. Minutes passed and eventually I thought nothing of it. That is, however, until the front door burst open and a grotesque creature stumbled in. She looked very much like my birth mothers and fathers, but at the same time, she was, by far, the ugliest one I have ever seen.
She blundered through the living room, taking a seat in each comforter before the first as she saw fit. Eventually, however, her keen sense of smell picked up the wafting aroma of something in the kitchen. Quickly, the comforters grew boring, for a new prey was in sight: the porridge on Enrique. She lumbered her monstrous frame into the kitchen and sat herself upon my brethren. With each seat, she took a dissatisfying taste of each bowl of porridge. Swiftly, she moved her way down the table sit. By this point, I was freaking out. I didnt know what to do. Why? Because if a bowl of porridge didnt satisfy her sick needs and fast, I would eventually be next.
Sure enough, this abomination, dissatisfied with what was presented on the far end of Enrique, worked her way down to the last bowl of food, and the last chair. That is
myself. If I had functioning legs, I would have run away by now. However, I was trapped where I stood, doomed to have the end quarters of this beast upon my being. No mortal words could accurately describe the horror I felt as this ogre pressed her hind end against my noble frame. I could hear each horrific slurp and moan as she consumed down each drop of porridge in the bowl. Apparently, it pleased her. However, I wasnt holding up so well. Perhaps synonymous with my mental states, my physical anatomy began to collapse. Both, myself and the behemoth plummeted towards the cold earth (and surprisingly nice interior choice for bears). She remained in one piece, where as I was rendered into many, irreparable pieces.
She quickly stood up, dazed and holding her head. As fast as I broke, she ran back to the table to finish devouring her prize. Poor Enrique looked horrified. In my daze, I was unable to measure the exact amount of time, but after what seemed like an eternity, the demon moved on to higher places in the house to further spread ruin, leaving me a broken mess on the floor.
Is this really how it ends? Will I be brought to an abrupt demise because of some intrusive wraith? How long will my suffering go on? Is there no justice?
Someone's been sitting in my chair and they've broken it all to pieces!