“Down the
hall, first door on the left.”
M.C. Escher*
#quote
Gamblers and statisticians must make great drinking buddies. Anyway
onto the flash fiction!
Game Of
Chairs
“Dinner is
coming,” my father said. It was always the toughest time of the
day.
“Dinner is
coming.” Whenever my father said this, fear and joy spread through
my body.
“Dinner is
coming Ebert.” He smiled.
Dinner itself
wasn't the issue. It was the Game of Chairs. The daily battle of who
gets the best seats in the house for dinner.
“Dinner is
coming,” my father would mumble while fixing the plumbing.
Our family
never actually ate at our dining room table or in the kitchen. We had
an arrangement of chairs in front of the TV. But for the room to look
nice the chairs forever had to be in specific spots. Moving them
would ruin the fashion of the room.
“Dinner is
coming,” he announced while washing the cat.
Who would get
the best spot to see the TV? The glorious, big screen television we
saved up so long to buy? So wide, so large. The sheer size of its
images made it feel like the show came out and hugged your eyes. And
in the better seats, it could be called bliss.
“Dinner is
coming,” my father said while juggling. Everybody needs a hobby.
The Game of
Chairs is surprisingly civil. Or at least it looks so. Bargains are
made. Rock-paper-scissors for luck if you don't feel like going
political or using trade. Contempt for losses is well hidden. Though
my sister as been in a mood since she figured that her chore trade
wasn't fair for the chair she got. Over time the chairs have been
ranked, and if you can't bargain for the top it all trades down from
there. The family size? Seven. Seven chairs, seven people. With all
the crowded TV trays the value of chair is sacred. When the Game of
Chairs is afoot “dibs” is as bad as a curse word.
“Dinner is coming,” Dad said. I could smell dinner. The family
gathered. Now I must begin fighting the Game of Chairs. Wish me luck
and the greatest chair.
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