The Chair
Look! There he goes.
Down the aisles bursting with bric-a-brac, towards the so-called antiques huddling in embarrassment in the shadows at the back of the shop.
Look at him! A proper dandy, this one. Dressed to the nines, a touch of bling ... and that fake tan. Sorry mate, that’s an epic fail. Who ever told you you’d look good with that on?
Uh – oh, he’s seen it. Yes! He’s spotted our crowning glory tucked away in the dustiest corner. Bargain hunter, eh? Think yourself a specialist? Well, you’ve scooped the jackpot here, my friend.
Sure, you can sit on it. Go on! No-one’s looking, except us of course. So inviting, isn’t it?
Proper antique Gainsborough, that armchair. The deep buttoned leather’s a little cracked here and there. A little threadbare on the underside, maybe. Well, we’ll see about all that won’t we, now? But it’s an original, that one.
Well!
Almost.
Yes, it’s comfortable isn’t it? There! A moment’s shut-eye, like all the others before. Why not?
Watch carefully, now. You’ve never seen the like, I’m sure.
He’s trying to get up. But he can’t. He’s stuck to the leather. His arms and legs have become leaden, strangely drained of all their strength. He strains and struggles now, but can barely raise a squeak. His eyes are sealed shut, and his lips seem glued together too.
He’ll feel sucked into the chair by now, heaved in like a strand of linguini into a glutton’s fleshy lips. And stretched and stretched. Already his face distends and widens, the features vanishing. His skin is heaved over a growing portion of the backrest with a cracking of bone and sinew.
You won’t see this from here, but the springs have punctured his back and the undersides of his thighs, worming their way in, splitting and hooking into flesh to stretch and stretch even more, heaving all his vital organs inwards, within their bouncy structure. The suit is ripped off his contorted body, sucked away with a machine’s voracity to add to the stuffing, revealing how his chest and belly have been pulled out, stretched and stretched to the very sides of the chair.
Now the buttons burst through the front of the distended skin and then heave back in with appalling strength.
There you go! Freshly upholstered with a nice new sheen, a nice burnish to the leather. All smooth and blemish-free, if a little orange for my taste. How about that?
Can’t wait for the next one!
Down the aisles bursting with bric-a-brac, towards the so-called antiques huddling in embarrassment in the shadows at the back of the shop.
Look at him! A proper dandy, this one. Dressed to the nines, a touch of bling ... and that fake tan. Sorry mate, that’s an epic fail. Who ever told you you’d look good with that on?
Uh – oh, he’s seen it. Yes! He’s spotted our crowning glory tucked away in the dustiest corner. Bargain hunter, eh? Think yourself a specialist? Well, you’ve scooped the jackpot here, my friend.
Sure, you can sit on it. Go on! No-one’s looking, except us of course. So inviting, isn’t it?
Proper antique Gainsborough, that armchair. The deep buttoned leather’s a little cracked here and there. A little threadbare on the underside, maybe. Well, we’ll see about all that won’t we, now? But it’s an original, that one.
Well!
Almost.
Yes, it’s comfortable isn’t it? There! A moment’s shut-eye, like all the others before. Why not?
Watch carefully, now. You’ve never seen the like, I’m sure.
He’s trying to get up. But he can’t. He’s stuck to the leather. His arms and legs have become leaden, strangely drained of all their strength. He strains and struggles now, but can barely raise a squeak. His eyes are sealed shut, and his lips seem glued together too.
He’ll feel sucked into the chair by now, heaved in like a strand of linguini into a glutton’s fleshy lips. And stretched and stretched. Already his face distends and widens, the features vanishing. His skin is heaved over a growing portion of the backrest with a cracking of bone and sinew.
You won’t see this from here, but the springs have punctured his back and the undersides of his thighs, worming their way in, splitting and hooking into flesh to stretch and stretch even more, heaving all his vital organs inwards, within their bouncy structure. The suit is ripped off his contorted body, sucked away with a machine’s voracity to add to the stuffing, revealing how his chest and belly have been pulled out, stretched and stretched to the very sides of the chair.
Now the buttons burst through the front of the distended skin and then heave back in with appalling strength.
There you go! Freshly upholstered with a nice new sheen, a nice burnish to the leather. All smooth and blemish-free, if a little orange for my taste. How about that?
Can’t wait for the next one!
Originally published here: http://www.authonomy.com/forums/threads/85574/fff-october-14-2011/?pagenumber=3
