“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.