Posted in Flash Fiction

The Last Chair

Another great photo prompt from Angela over at Visual Dare.

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The Last Chair

The chairs appeared, one May evening, two years ago. There was one wooden chair for every child in the village and every night, just as the sun was setting, each child would take his or her place on their allotted chair and wait. The adults watched on.

As the sun dropped out of the sky a thick fog would engulf the field, like long, white, spindly fingers wrapping themselves around the chairs and their occupants. There was an unnerving silence, nobody moved, nobody spoke.

When the fog lifted there would be another vacant chair, another missing child. Those remaining  would slowly make their way across the field back to the arms of their waiting parents.

Tomorrow night, as the sun sets, I will take my place, as usual, on my wooden chair. I will be the last one from our village, the final child. What then will happen to the chairs?

MikeJackson©2013

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Author:

Now that I'm retired I have more time to devote to writing my blog and creating short stories.

21 thoughts on “The Last Chair

  1. As the sun dropped out of the sky a thick fog would engulf the field, like long, white, spindly fingers wrapping themselves around the chairs and their occupants. I love that sentence.

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  2. Wonderfully creepy. Somehow I saw this as an inverted Pied Piper of Hamelin story, and of course, with it, Silverstein’s poem “The One Who Stayed.” I hope the narrator here doesn’t spirit away like his comrades…! What happened to the others, though? That is what I’d like to know…

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