The Stupid Chair

This house truly is endless. Wherever I go, all that lies before me is rooms, corridors, rooms and corridors. Every window is tightly boarded up, and the sparse furnishings can only be made out thanks to the dim light of fluorescent lamps.

Did I say "sparse"? True, but do not let my words deceive you: within this boundless space, there is no shortage of exquisite and elegant "furniture", in the sense that this is what They call us here. All these square, rectangular, round, and diamond-shaped rooms contain almost no "dead" furniture. But then how are such respectable people, possessed of unlimited influence, supposed to live in them?

Oh, how wonderful that you decided to ask, and quite reasonably so. Allow me to introduce myself. My name would mean nothing to you, but I am quite pleasant to the touch and elegant in form - a chair!

I suppose that might shock some people - I mean, how is that possible: a talking chair that also praises itself?!

But do not rush into metaphysical depths. In our glorious world, when your power becomes so immense, can ordinary entertainment really bring you even a gram more pleasure? Of course not. And in that case, you decide to deliver that pleasure to yourself by the kilogram and the ton, straight to your apartment. Contract after contract, non-disclosure agreements, oaths and bribes, sums of money unimaginable to some flowing away like a river, and there stands Mr. Table, once drowning in debt, while over there in the corner is a formerly fallen lady, now a Blue Lamp, and by the door stands a boy, still very young, but already an honorable Dresser.

We do not need names, and that is for the best. I stand in the living room, next to a "dead" fireplace. It warms my left side, and for most of the day I remain in a pleasant half-sleep. And just as I was nearly entering the realm of Morpheus, a ringing sound echoed throughout the entire residence.

In the blink of an eye, the whole interior began to stir. The Lamp predicted imminent doom, the Table was already preparing for a long journey, while the dressers huddled together for greater safety.

- Silence.

One word was enough to calm the disturbed wooden swarm. It was the Throne speaking.

Technically, of course, we are all equal here. After all, how can, say, a sideboard be more important than a floor lamp? Yet in practice, a device for resting, seemingly almost identical to me, turns out to stand immeasurably higher than I do on the social ladder.

No one says it aloud, but even I, having appeared here only recently, understand how things work. There are always people in the world, ahem, I mean objects, that act, and objects that receive those actions. Personally, I belong to the latter. I was not given the power to influence anything, and thank God for that. I simply go with the flow, touching no one and bothering absolutely nobody.

- Nothing terrible has happened. Take your places and leave the affairs of the other room to its inhabitants.

- But what about it, what if something happened there... - The Lamp was difficult to stop.

- There is no "what if". Do not be foolish and do not cause panic.

I do not know why, but as if ignoring everyone else in the room, someone was staring directly at me. That dark and distant gaze made my entire being tremble. It seemed I had almost found its source, but a moment later only familiar faces remained in the room.

After the brief disturbance, everything returned to its place, and everyone crawled back into their assigned corner. The sun was setting, and although we could not see it through the boarded-up windows, the ringing of distant bells announced the coming twilight, while the automatically switching-off lights announced the arrival of night.

Under the cover of descending darkness, somewhere in the utility rooms:

Only a small candle made it possible to distinguish the dark silhouettes. They seemed to be: a thin old man - the Plunger; an ironing Board, once tall and stately, but now hunched over and beaten down; a stout man of about forty with a respectable belly - the Vacuum Cleaner; and at the head of an improvised dead table - the Throne, a mighty, dark-haired young man in the prime of his life. He was the one who began this intimate conversation.

- So, what happened in the kitchen today? My whole room was thrown into a panic, - he said, seemingly addressing someone specific.

- It's hard to say for certain. I can't get in touch with my person from the sixth corridor, and he was the closest to the kitchen, - the Board said sadly and barely audibly.

- Do we seriously have no one anywhere near the entire kitchen?! - the Throne boomed almost at full volume.

- Quiet, quiet, hot soul, or do you want all of us to be thrown into the scrap heap?! - said the Plunger patronizingly. - Be that as it may, it changes nothing about our plans. Everything is almost ready for the day after tomorrow.

- And are you sure everything is ready? - the Vacuum Cleaner turned skeptically. - In my opinion, we still haven't discussed one important detail: even if this plan to attack the food delivery workers succeeds and Red is as far away as possible, we still don't know what is going on outside or where we even are. What if this damn house is standing in the middle of a dense forest, or on an island in the middle of the ocean?

- That doesn't matter, - the Throne looked at him. - None of it matters. Beyond the walls of this house lies freedom. Once we get out, then we'll decide what to do next. The important thing is to tell the world what is happening here.

Somewhere deep in the corridor, a quiet squeal sounded and a floorboard creaked.

- That's enough for today. Find out what happened in the kitchen, if possible, but under no circumstances take risks or expose yourselves. Farewell.

- Farewell, farewell, - the echoes faded into the emptiness of the room.

I don't know how they manage it, but I am always full here, except in the early morning, even though we are fed only once a day, as soon as the lights come on. The signal for this celebration is the smell of dark chocolate, though they do not actually give us any. People covered from head to toe in green cloth bring a cart filled with some incomprehensible sludge into every room. It never smells of anything, and we simply eat it with our hands from a hollow inside the cart. However, today, when I was already finishing my allotted portion and the green servants came to take the cart away, something unexpectedly ended up in my pocket.

After such an exquisite meal, we take our places. To be honest, we do not stand in them all day, but it is precisely after breakfast that the man in red walks through the corridors. I have heard that he supervises everything at all times, but the house is so vast that he returns to us only once every twenty-four hours.

This time, no one came. It was strange, of course, but it had happened before, so after a while the tension dissolved into the air, and the furniture began crawling toward one another.

I moved away from the others into a dark corner of the room. After all, my curiosity about the object in my pocket outweighed my desire to chat. I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt something soft and elastic. It seemed to be a piece of fabric. I took it out and unfolded it - and it really was fabric, green, the color of the servants who brought the food. It was completely clean, except for one tiny word in the lower corner.

"Brother".

- Hm...what brother? I guess someone slipped this into my pocket by mistake.

After standing there for a little longer, I decided not to fill my head with things that had absolutely nothing to do with me and returned to those chatting throughout the room.

For some reason, the Table often came over to talk to me, although I had never invited him to do so. Nothing changed this time.

- Heard how the whole house was creaking last night?

- No.

- Ah, you're deaf as a post. This whole house nearly fell apart while you were sleeping. If it really does fall apart, God forbid, you'll sleep through the whole thing, - the giant would not stop talking.

- Well, I...

I did not manage to get out even half a word.

- How did you end up here anyway? By now we're practically friends, practically related furniture, and yet you still keep to yourself and stay quiet.

How did I end up here? I would say that "ended up" is not the right phrase. I simply came here. They offered, and I agreed. There were no other options.

- It just happened.

Confusion flashed across his broad face, only to be replaced a moment later by a mysterious gleam, as though a man who had spent years hiding some secret was finally about to unburden himself. Leaning unpleasantly close, he whispered:

- Heard the rumors that have been going around lately? - without waiting for my answer, he continued: - They say that down on some of the lower floors, not everyone is here voluntarily.

My temple began to throb painfully.

- What do you mean?

- Exactly what I said. Word is, down in the basement they don't exactly treat the furniture gently, and who in their right mind would willingly sign up for that? So you could say we've got it made here.

This conversation was beginning to tire me out.

- Listen... so what? - now he was looking at me questioningly. - At the end of the day, what do we care? They don't touch us, and that's that, - eager to end the conversation as quickly as possible, I had already turned to leave. However, I was suddenly stopped.

- And that's that, you say?

I was about to push away the Table, who had completely lost all sense of decency, but he had vanished without a trace. The Throne stood before me.

Looking down at me, barely concealing his contempt and frowning, he continued:

- Somewhere very close by, people just like us are suffering. No, not just like us. We are here of our own free will. They are not. And you simply brush it aside?

- I'm not brushing anything aside, - no longer able to hide my irritation at these moralists and raising my voice more and more, - it's just that none of this has anything to do with me. World suffering and all those universal human misfortunes... They. Simply. Do not. Concern me. Right now, I'm fed and healthy, and I don't need anything more. Everything else is in the hands of fate or God, and I don't give a damn. Yes, of course I feel sorry for those people, but I can't influence their fate anyway. That's all there is to it.

- If you ignore the suffering of others and, as you put it, universal human misfortunes, then don't complain to fate when trouble comes knocking on your own door and you find yourself completely alone before destiny. Don't blame chance or God. It was always your choice, and one day it will come back to haunt you.

- Why can't you understand? I just want to go with the flow and not burden my soul with unnecessary worries - that is my ideal. You can struggle in fate's web all you want, but no one can escape it anyway.

By then, my emotional strength had been exhausted, and I went back to my rightful and protected place - the corner where they would finally stop bothering me.

I could feel his eyes boring into my back, and the last thing I heard was:

"...real human furniture."

But it did not bother me in the slightest. All their scurrying about was nothing more than ants running around. Let them fuss as much as they want. It was simply ridiculous.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough. For some reason, the Throne kept approaching everyone and starting conversations. Still, that no longer concerned me. Under the peaceful ringing of bells, I fell asleep.

The morning began strangely. Although everything appeared to be the same as before, new notes had been added to the usually melancholic sound of morning.

New looks, new movements, today everything was terribly new - disgusting morning.

At the usual time, the smell of chocolate began spreading through the air, and my stomach happily growled in response. The people in green began pushing in the carts, and the colorless sludge filled the bellies of the hungry. But just as the green ones began gathering themselves to leave, a click suddenly sounded somewhere in the distance.

Then another, and another - in an instant, clicking and commotion filled all the space around us.

- To arms, brothers! - the thin old man burst into our room carrying a sack of rifles, handing them out left and right.

- Plunger, what's the situation?! - the Throne shouted through the thunder of gunfire.

- The Board is breaking through to the lower floors. The green ones have already grabbed weapons and are defending the kitchen, the main dining hall, and the basements. Red is nowhere to be seen, but the faster we free those below and drive the enemy out, the faster we can get out of here and avoid a confrontation.

- Good. Leave the other rooms. Everyone who wanted to join us already has a rifle. We focus on the basement! Follow me, friends!

Gunfire thundered again. The green ones who had found themselves in the very heart of the events in our room were driven into the center and forced onto their knees. The Plunger looked them over with contempt.

- And what do we do with these? - the Throne stopped.

- I think we can tie them up and...

- Tie them up? You said you want to leave them alive? - the Plunger's face showed genuine anger. - Our comrades are dying on the floors above right now, and you want to save the enemy? Freedom comes at a price, boy! For our comrades, both the living and those already fallen - raise your rifles!

The Throne was pushed toward the exit.

- No, wait, we still can! - he tried to resist, but the human tide was already carrying him away.

I could swear I had seen the eyes of one of those people in green somewhere before. She was looking directly at me again. What the hell? Like an innocent child, she stared at me with a confused and sorrowful gaze.

Stop looking at me. Stop staring at me already.

Tears were gathering in her eyes.

- Aim!

THEY decide everything, THEY, not me.

- Fire!

A volley of shots rang out.

Despair and silent reproach were imprinted in her eyes, and the faint spark still burning within her went out forever.

I knew her once. I knew her, I was sure of it. If only I had known about their plans, if only I... I...

I fell to my knees. The Table had somehow appeared beside me.

- Come on, brother, we're leaving here.

- Leave me alone.

- Come on, get up, friend. The way seems clear. We can get out.

- Don't come near me!

I pushed him away and crawled into the darkest, most distant corner of the room.

- What a fool, - he waved me off and disappeared into the darkness and noise of the house.

When fate rages like this, you need to hide and wait out the storm. I remained in my shelter and squeezed my eyes shut.

Hours passed after the rebellion. The siren gradually faded, but I did not dare to leave - what if they found me, caught me? There were no sounds anymore.

I slowly opened my eyes. Sunlight was streaming through the broken windows. Timidly, as though it had forgotten the way here, it served as the only source of light in the half-darkness of the empty room.

I was alone, or at least that was how it seemed. Step by step, as I moved through the room, I came across shattered window glass and empty rifles, but in the center of the room, they were still lying there.

The bodies in green.

There was nothing else to do, so I went over to look at them. One of them lay curled up like a newborn kitten, as though that could somehow have saved her from the bullets. It was her, that same girl in the green cloak.

I shuddered. I did not know how much time had passed, but the stench had already set in. Looking away, I returned to the corner marked out for me.

- What if the man in red comes back? I don't need any trouble.

Hours and days passed. I went to sleep, woke up, and returned to my place. The important thing was to do everything properly, and then trouble would pass me by. Everything would be fine.

No one came anymore.

I was starving. The walls already reeked of decay, but my stomach growled so fiercely, as though I were sitting at a feast. I couldn't leave. I didn't care. Everything would be fine, everything would...

- Are you really going to stay here and starve to death?

An unfamiliar voice shook the room.

I spun around, but the room remained in its original emptiness. Only I and...

- Stupid brother, have you really already died somewhere inside yourself?

The voice was coming from beneath a body lying nearby.

- You... you're alive?

Cold sweat ran through me, and my whole body trembled.

- I took such good care of you, I tried so hard, but you still remained trapped inside yourself. You never wanted to come out to me, - it seemed she was about to cry.

- Who the hell are you? I saw them shoot you!

- After our parents died, all we had left was each other, but you left me too, weak little brother. And now that I'm dead, who will take care of you?

- Me, me... why does everyone always want something from me? Why me?!

She fell silent.

- You still haven't understood, brother. One day, you will have to choose.

The light from the window blinded me and flooded the entire room.

The moment I opened my eyes, I found myself somewhere completely different.

A small, cluttered room with broken windows. My entire body ached, as though it had remained motionless for years. Barely able to move, I approached what remained of the windows and, looking down at the street, saw broken furniture scattered across the pavement.

- Did I throw it out?

Limping toward the door, I bumped into something soft and once alive, but when I looked down, I saw only the shell of someone who had once been close to me. Lying face down, one arm stretched toward my bed, as though trying to reach for it one last time, she must have wanted to...

Never mind.

Tears filled my eyes.

- Thank you for everything, sister. I think I finally understand.

Having reached the end of the room, I threw open the front door.