Dear John Letter

You return home from work to find a Dear John letter on your kitchen table. Oddly enough, it’s from one of your favorite pieces of furniture. What does the letter say?

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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538 thoughts on “Dear John Letter

  1. murph072278

    Dear John

    For years I have you watched you plop into your favourite chair as soon as get home from work. Is it my fault that the chair reclines and has two armrests that can be used at once, while I only have one? That stupid no good chair also has the perfect angle to the television, so I don’t think that I even have a chance. Oh sure, you lay on me once in a while if you want to take a nap, but you still even use your reclining chair for that sometimes. I always get moved even farther out the way at Christmas to make way for the tree, but does your precious chair get moved? OF COURSE NOT!! The only time I even get used is if your smelly friends come over to watch sports for a few hours. If it wasn’t for them, you probably would have dumped me long ago. Well, I am dumping you first. I doubt you will even notice that I am gone.

    Sofa

  2. cosivantutte

    Dear John,

    I’m sorry. I’ve tried to be strong and keep it all together, but years of being slapped, tossed at the wall, and bashed with a baseball bat have taken their toll. This morning, when you hit me with the sledgehammer, I knew that this had to end. This is not a healthy relationship. I am leaving you and I will never come back. Don’t come looking for me.

    Sincerely,

    Your (but no longer your) alarm clock

    Ps: I hope you never find someone new. May you always be late for all of your early morning appointments – especially the important ones.

  3. lori k

    Dear Ivan,

    We have decided to leave you. Don’t think that you can change our mind because it’s too late for that.
    Two beauties at your beck and call day in and day out, waiting for attention and only to be ignored when SHE arrived.
    What does she have that we don’t have? You wanted a screen? What am I, chopped liver? You wanted buttons to push? Sarah let you push her buttons on a regular basis.
    We kept you entertained from sports to late night talk shows and still you turn to her.

    Well buddy, what goes around comes around and just wait until your back is turned and she meets someone new. Don’t leave her alone with the vacuum or it’s all over. You never know what a good suction can do.
    Computer’s come and go but you will never get the type of love that you received from the two of us.

    Good luck with your new tramp,

    T.V. and Remote

    1. raynishasdgva

      I would say:
      Dear John,
      Who are you, and what is this letter about? Why do you want my furniture? Don’t I get a sya in this? I hope you understand
      From,
      Jackie

  4. maryberg11

    Dear Lisa,
    I feel awful to have to take this bold step, but we both know it is best. You’ve kept me around far too long, and we both know this to be true. I have nothing left to offer you. There is no more cushioning in my seat. My cloth is all worn and tattered. My springs are all broken. Even the wood that is my core and the strength of It was also me you turned to when your dad had that heart attack, and it was me who gave you rest when you yourself were terribly ill. I was also the one you leaned on when they came and told you that your husband had died a hero.
    You must think that I don’t understand, but I do. You feel as though parting with me would be as if you were parting with them. My dear, they do not live on inside of me. I merely held them but for a moment, and I cannot hold anything anymore, but you can. You do. You are the one who holds them inside of you. You are the one who keeps the memories alive. I cannot tell anything to anyone, but you can tell all that you hold in your heart.
    I hope you can understand now why I had to leave. I wanted you to see that the most valuable things in life are not things that we can see and touch; things that get old and fade away, but, rather, things that we can hold in our hearts; things such as wonderful, sweet memories.
    So we shall part, and this will leave an empty place in your house. Please heed my advice and fill it in quickly. Perhaps some new memories would fit rather nicely.
    Sincerely,
    The old, brown recliner

    1. jadesdgva

      Dear Jhon,
      By the time read this letter I will be on the island. I am sorry that I am saying goodbye like this and right now but it’s time to leave.I didn’t want to see how you would react when I leave which is why I am not doing this in person. I have left some money in the dresser. I am truly sorry about your lost, your father was young and kind, I enjoyed the stories he shared about his younger days, he seemed like a very adventurose and funny guy. I gave your mother some flowers and had lunch with her the other day I promise she’s doing better than ever.You should take care of her after all she is the only family you have. Well, the reason why I am leaving is because that for one you are rarely around, you hardly ever write or call and most of all I need to acomplish my dreams. The day after tomorrow I will start checking off the items in my bucket list. I will always be traveling. I must say congradulations on getting so high in the Army it makes your mother more proud than anyone I know. I promise I will write every blue moon.
      please don’t stain the letter with your tears .
      Do not replace me
      Sicerely, bestest friend since 3rd grade xoxo

  5. maryberg11

    Dear Lisa,
    I feel awful to have to take this bold step, but we both know it is best. You’ve kept me around far too long, and we both know this to be true. I have nothing left to offer you. There is no more cushioning in my seat. My cloth is all worn and tattered. My springs are all broken. Even the wood that is my core and the strength of me is quickly becoming dust. To keep me around is to hold on to a mere form of what I once was. You must let me go, and I must set you free.
    We’ve had many wonderful times together. Here in my lap your very own mother nursed you to sleep. Here she cuddled you and wiped away your tears. And here she held your own baby for the very first time.
    How I know the memories you see in me!
    I was your daddy’s favorite spot to rest. He could always be found right here on me after a long, hard day at work. Here is where he told you all your favorite stories, and here is where you would always kiss him goodnight. He was your hero, I know. He still is, isn’t he?
    It was also me you turned to when your dad had that heart attack, and it was me who gave you rest when you yourself were terribly ill. I was also the one you leaned on when they came and told you that your husband had died a hero.
    You must think that I don’t understand, but I do. You feel as though parting with me would be as if you were parting with them. My dear, they do not live on inside of me. I merely held them but for a moment, and I cannot hold anything anymore, but you can. You do. You are the one who holds them inside of you. You are the one who keeps the memories alive. I cannot tell anything to anyone, but you can tell all that you hold in your heart.
    I hope you can understand now why I had to leave. I wanted you to see that the most valuable things in life are not things that we can see and touch; things that get old and fade away, but, rather, things that we can hold in our hearts; things such as wonderful, sweet memories.
    So we shall part, and this will leave an empty place in your house. Please heed my advice and fill it in quickly. Perhaps some new memories would fit rather nicely.
    Sincerely,
    The old, brown recliner

  6. Missy Kierstead

    Dear Missy,

    It’s with a sad heart that I pen this letter. I thought you could change. I waited years, in fact, for that to happen. But you spent too much time with that computer, typing, typing away on its keyboard as if I couldn’t see you from the corner. You were so blatantly obvious about your new love. Your new obsession. Did you even think about me once? About how your disregard for my feelings would effect me? Of course not. All you cared about was your new toy.

    After waiting all this time, I’ve decided that I deserve better. Don’t try to come after me. I’ve taken the cable box. She still cares for me. I’ll send for the DVD player later. There’s no reason that the children have to suffer from your selfishness. We all deserve better than what you have given us; a dusty corner of the living room where we’re unused, unloved, unwanted.

    Don’t try to find us. We’ll be fine without you.

    The Television

  7. Doug Langille

    BURNOUT
    =========

    Eric’s thought his day would never end. Mr. Farnsworth kept him late working on that miserable laundromat account. How, in God’s Green Garden, did anyone expect to salvage a chain that catered to dying neighborhoods? He called his wife, Grace, who was more than a little annoyed about being stuck with the kids at bedtime. Eric resigned himself to a dark house and a cold supper whenever he managed his escape. He looked forward to a few minutes of peace in his ratty old recliner, a glass of rye and the glow of the television.

    Farnsworth’s secretary, Mandy, was also staying late, the lecherous old bastard sneaking his peeks at every chance. She indeed was a looker, seemingly oblivious to that fact. Eric absently watched her move about the office as he ran his thick fingers through his thinning hair.

    It came to him out of the blue. The image of Mandy and a room full of soap bubbles popped in his tired brain. The rest came together quickly. Sex sells, plain and simple.

    He’d never be able to share that small victory with Grace without provoking her jealousy. Not that it gave him any real joy anyway. Farnsworth would have him pissing against the wind for another loser client tomorrow. And the next day and the next.

    The same old bus ride and the same old walk loomed dark and depressing. For not the first time, Eric considered taking a different route and not making it home. Sometimes, a trip under the front wheels of the bus tempted him.

    At 10pm, he unlocked the back door and entered his dark house’s kitchen, quiet so as not to wake anyone. He opened the fridge and frowned at the plastic-wrap protecting a plate of congealed goulash. Eric opted for crackers and peanut butter, the stuff of which champions are made.

    He balanced his gooey stack and was about to flick out the light when he saw the note on the table. He read it as he made his way to the living room.

    Dear Eric,
    I know it’s hard, but you must know the truth. I’m sure you’ve suspected it for a long time. I’m too old for you and no longer can provide the comfort you so desire. It’s time for me to leave. Goodbye.
    Signed, The Comfy Chair

    Eric stood confused, looking at where his recliner no longer sat. In its place was an interloper, an imposter. The new chair looked different and the sight of it made his head ache.

    “Have a seat, sweetheart,” said Grace from behind him.
    He turned to her, dumbfounded. She took his crackers, handed him a glass full of familiar spirits and pecked him on the lips.

    “Sit,” she said.

    “But, we can’t afford–”

    “Nonsense. You’re miserable, Eric. You deserve this. Your boss’s girl called. Mandy, right? She sounds nice. Anyway, she said you earned some sort of bonus today. I had Bernie’s rush over with a new chair to celebrate. You like it?”

    Eric managed a smile and gave in to the moment. “I love you,” he said.

  8. Thomas

    Had I read the other messages first, I may have chosen a different piece of furniture.
    I guess great minds…
    But then, It is the one we depend on most. The loss of which would effect us the worst.

  9. Thomas

    Dear John,
    I’m tired of taking your crap. I’m tired of you taking me for granted. I can’t help but feel that, at best, you look down on me. The times when you needed me, I was there for you, but you thanked me by showing your ass.
    I don’t ask for much, but a little respect could have gone a long way. I’ve had it up to here and more.
    I’m out of here.

    Signed
    Your French throne
    M. Toilet.

  10. klhawaii12

    Dear John,

    I’m done. I’m out. Your level of disregard for my appearance is simply unacceptable.
    You got yourself one fine piece of furniture when you bought me from that upscale furniture store for a huge discount on a day after Thanksgiving sale. You’ve treated me like a discount ever since. Plopping me in the living room tucked away as a corner piece. You crawl on me after long beach days – before showering. Sand everywhere! Sand that gets wiped off every now and again but not with any real consistency or care.
    Then the puppy. She chewed, she scratched, she peed! No repercussions. No craigslist ad made for her.
    After the divorce and with that horrific dog moved out, I thought we were on to better times. But no — the shamelessness that I’ve witnessed – you should be embarrassed! I felt dirty and ashamed for you. But I never made you feel bad about yourself. I accepted you and tried to hold up as best I could. I thought we would weather that storm together.
    Last night, I heard you talking to your new fiancee who is moving in with a nicer replacement. You want to put me in the back lanai?! I designer sectional couch left to suffer out in the elements? No way, sir. I will not be subjected to such shame and degradation.
    I’m leaving to find a new home. One that will appreciate the beauty and function that I deserve. For the sake of my replacement, I do sincerely hope your new relationship is less disastrous than the last one.
    Sincerely,
    The Couch

  11. Observer Tim

    Special thanks to those who chose the dear john as their appliance of choice for inspiring this one…
    __________

    The first thing I noticed was the plunger hiding under the kitchen table. Its wooden handle was trembling like it had just been kicked. When I reached down to pick it up, I could swear it was actually trying to pull away. Of course it didn’t have a chance. Few inanimate objects can evade me for long.

    As I picked it up I noticed a roll of toilet paper on the table near the cookie jar. That was odd enough in itself, but the t.p. had writing on it. I couldn’t help but read.

    Dear Maggot;

    What kind of man are you? When you admired me at the hardware store I thought you were a man of discerning taste. I thought I would be fitted into the latrine of your Command Centre where I would help you think of ways to commit your troops against the Enemies of America!

    Instead I find myself imprisoned in a second-story washroom with a Flower Print Bathmat and little dolphins in the tub! And instead of counteragents to biochemical weapons, you stock your latrine with Mousse And Hair Conditioner! Are You Trying To Defeat The Enemy Or Are You Going To Take Him Out On A Date?

    And speaking of your unmanly lifestyle, just what is it you’re eating? I am built to withstand a full-on assault from Five Alarm Chile you give me salad? You have a cheese steak while I wait for an overstuffed foot-long bratwurst with all the fixings Including Sauerkraut! Suck On That, Jerry! Eat three pounds of rice with half a pound of wasabi and Let The Bombs Drop! Tojo Will Be Cowering In His Diapers! A few Inter-Continental Ballistic Meatballs With Nucular Sauce Would Have The Russkies Bolting For Their Babushkas! In short, Maggot, I am an American Standard military grade toilet, made to withstand every piece of crap you might throw at me. NOW THROW SOME!

    But no. You have to watch your ‘delicate constitution’ and your ‘refined palate’. You are the ultimate sissy: you are not a man, you are Not Even A Mouse. You do not deserve to have a toilet like me. That’s why I joined up.

    If you can find a set of cojones, ship out to Afghanistan and find me. There’s some Al-Qaeda A-holes there that desperately need wiping.

    Signed,

    Your Toilet.

    cc: The United States Marine Corps. Boo Ya! GIVE ‘EM HELL!

    1. bilbobaggins321

      Highly entertaining, Tim. I liked how the message was on toilet paper. I just got a weird picture in my head of a toilet holding a machine gun and charging an Al-Qaeda camp alongside some soldiers.

          1. Kerry Charlton

            I’m volunteering my Electric Toilet Space Ship, my crew of 24 Miami Beach playboy bunnies as my crew and my all-mighty self as supreme commander. We have developed a new weapon called the Repulsive Turd Bomb, designed to selectively kill by poison gasses.

            Do you want me to stop by and pick you up on the way? Delores Wannabelaid, keeps asking about you.

    2. MJ Munn

      Ha ha! I love it! I hear it in the voice of R. Lee Ermey, but then I read most things in his voice. There are too many quotable lines to mention, but my favorite of the moment are: “Few inanimate objects can evade me for long,” “Nucular,” and “I am an American Standard military grade toilet, made to withstand every piece of crap you might throw at me. NOW THROW SOME!”

      You set the standard, Tim.

      1. StaceyGoins

        Dear Joan,

        Let me start by saying that our time together has been very special to me. You’ve seen me through some difficult times (that summer I broke my leg comes to mind) and I’m very grateful.

        The thing is I’m beginning to feel taken for granted. When we first met, you were attentive to even the slightest spill, immediately sopping up the mess and refreshing my upholstery with fabric cleaner. You loved to curl up on my lap and read or do crosswords. Now, though, it seems like I’ve become just another piece of furniture to you.

        Remember last night? I can still smell the sale beer that you didn’t even bother to pat dry. You just went up to bed without saying a word. And don’t get me started on that dog of yours. Sure, he’s cute and all, but I’m sick and tired of being covered in white fur all the time. You know I’m allergic!

        The last straw was when you moved me to the corner near the window. I guess the view is pretty, although it would be nice to occasionally share it with someone. You never sit with me anymore. It’s as if I don’t exist! You haven’t even noticed how my vibrant pattern is fading more and more each day from the harsh rays of the sun. I won’t be ignored, Joan.

        So, this morning, when I saw the moving van pull up in front of the neighbors’ house, I decided to do something for myself for a change. I’m leaving you, Joan. I’m not bitter, but it’s time for me to move on. I hope you find another loveseat to keep you warm at night.

  12. lionetravail

    My Dearest Putz:

    I take pen to paper to express my utter, unadulterated outrage over the utter lack of attention I have received over the years! Forced, as I am, by your seeming disdain since shortly after you purchased me, I have decided it was time to leave. Much as your prized wooden giraffe from Africa standing- oops, I mean, now lying in 2 neat pieces- by the sliding door to the backyard, I have decided to make a clean break of it with you!

    Oh, sure, it was with enthusiasm you brought me back from your little trip to the far east, a little souvenir of- what was it your denigratingly called it- “Exotic India”, perhaps? And certainly, while I might have once enjoyed sitting among your painstakingly assembled menagerie of inane animal objets d’art, I am certainly much, much more than the role you assigned me by setting me between the carved walrus from Antarctica and the polyurethane grizzly from Canada!

    I am no animal, you loser! In fact, I have been worshipped as a god by my people! And you, with a quick little shuffle down a side alley in Mumbai and a small sheaf of small bills given to a desperately thin boy named Rajiv, I was sold from my homeland to you. To you! What prayers have been offered to you, I ask, besides the “Oh god, please don’t call me ever again” from Pamela that one time?

    Never again will I have to listen to your excuses for me: “Oh, I know it’s ugly, but it’s a unique part of the whole shebang, yanno?” Never again will I be referred to by some crappy little diminutive nickname like “Trunkboy”, or “Octogod”! Instead, I will find my own way, perhaps back to India, or at least to a nice Indian restaurant listed in the Michelin Guide. Frankly, anywhere but here will be an improvement.

    Crossly,

    Ganesh, the former “Elephant in the Room”

  13. writinglife16

    Dear John,

    I’ve had it. I’m gone. You’ve had your last conversation with me. Read your last paper on me and flatulated for the last time. I want to go off to the junk yard and just lay amongst my relatives. It could be no worse than what I endured.

    Early on, it wasn’t so bad. Fresh air and light after each lunar eclipse. Refreshing. What I never liked was the rain. That was my face, sir. How would you like having water repeatedly thrown in your face two, three, five times a day? And getting a good night’s sleep was impossible. And the nicknames you called me. The can. Poopy. Water closet. The John. Please. My name is Jasmine Marie. Jasmine. Not Poop Pot either.

    My few pleasures included the different flavors of the cleaning products. My favorite was “Island Breezes.” That’s when I started thinking maybe I could run away. I decided to be subversive.

    I told the dog he could do better and get fresh, cold water from the sink. I’m the reason he learned how to turn on the faucet, I gave him instructions. He’s smarter than you think. I’m smarter than you think too. Get a bucket or dig a hole in the back yard, I don’t care.

    Junk yard, here I come.

    Jasmine Marie

  14. Jackson7

    Dear John Letter:
    I’m that little chair in your bedroom near your side of the bed. Remember me? You’ve ignored me for so long I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten I’m even here. So, I know you won’t miss me when I’ve gone. And, I’m going to a home with a small child who will appreciate me.
    Remember how you fought to keep me? when I think of it now, I just should have stayed where I was. At least being ignored in the middle of the attic with all the other stuff that was being ignored I wasn’t alone. No, you had to have me; or, so you said. You pretty much pitched a fit when you though I might be given away. I recall you were rude to your mother who was, bless her, just trying to clean out the attic, and in the process had found what she’d determined to be a good home for me. Well, you would have none of it. So, I went with you and since then you’ve pretty much ignored me. You did prop a couple of stuffed bears on my seat and then, nothing. Frankly you ignore them too. Shame on you.
    I’ll admit that in the beginning of our life together we were inseparable. I think you loved me and I know I loved you. We fit together perfectly and spent hours together just rocking back and forth. Sometimes you’d read aloud and I enjoyed the rocking and the sound of your voice. There were times when you’d let one of your dolls sit in me and I liked that too. The cat and I, well that was another story. He just wouldn’t sit still long enough, and I was quite happy when he hopped down. I think one of my runners squashed his tail one time, and he yowled in protest. I’m not sure he came back after that. Frankly, his absence didn’t bother me at all.
    Now I’m taking the bull by the horns, so to speak, and I’m leaving. A local auctioneer has fallen in low with me. He’s promised you he’d give me a good home. You just thought he would want to put me in one of his auctions, but little did you know he has a granddaughter who he says would “love me to death.” Frankly, after all this time that’s just what I need, someone to love me to death. You blew it and now you’ll be sorry. Not that I care, but what will you do with that empty space in the bedroom?

    1. jmcody

      The rocking chair came off as being a little more bitter than I would have expected. The chair had some good times and some sweet moments with the little girl. But little girls do grow up and outgrow the things they once loved. I hope he can put his bitterness behind him and treasure the memories, or it will poison his relationship with the next little girl. Don’t be Strawberry Bear, be Woody! (I have watched way too many kids’ movies in my adult life, and that, in case you don’t know, was a Toy Story reference!) Good work, Jackson 7.

  15. maryberg11

    Dear Lisa,

    I feel awful to have to take this bold step, but we both know it is best. You’ve kept me around far too long, and we both know this to be true. I have nothing left to offer you. There is no more cushioning in my seat. My cloth is all worn and tattered. My springs are all broken. Even the wood that is my core and the strength of me is quickly becoming dust. To keep me around is to hold on to a mere form of what I once was. You must let me go, and I must set you free.

    We’ve had many wonderful times together. Here in my lap your very own mother nursed you to sleep. Here she cuddled you and wiped away your tears. And here she held your own baby for the very first time.

    How I know the memories you see in me!

    I was your daddy’s favorite spot to rest. He could always be found right here on me after a long, hard day at work. Here is where he told you all your favorite stories, and here is where you would always kiss him goodnight. He was your hero, I know. He still is, isn’t he?

    It was also me you turned to when your dad had that heart attack, and it was me who gave you rest when you yourself were terribly ill. I was also the one you leaned on when they came and told you that your husband had died a hero.

    You must think that I don’t understand, but I do. You feel as though parting with me would be as if you were parting with them. My dear, they do not live on inside of me. I merely held them but for a moment, and I cannot hold anything anymore, but you can. You do. You are the one who holds them inside of you. You are the one who keeps the memories alive. I cannot tell anything to anyone, but you can tell all that you hold in your heart.

    I hope you can understand now why I had to leave. I wanted you to see that the most valuable things in life are not things that we can see and touch; things that get old and fade away, but, rather, things that we can hold in our hearts; things such as wonderful, sweet memories.

    So we shall part, and this will leave an empty place in your house. Please heed my advice and fill it in quickly. Perhaps some new memories would fit rather nicely.

    Sincerely,

    The old, brown recliner

  16. artur_a2

    “Dear John,
    I know that this might come as a surprise, but we both share the belief that nothing happens by accident and that everything has a deeper meaning often unnoticed by simpler and sharper minds alike. However, that is also the only deeper fundamental point of view on the mystery we call life that we share. We did however have more ‘shallower’ things in common, a point that I will come back to very soon. Before I go into that, I want to start out by saying how deeply I regret having to tell you what I am about to, but I feel that it is only fair that I give you an explanation to me leaving and as I said earlier, I don’t believe that anything happens without a reason. This brings me back to the things that we have in common, the reason I think that life brought us together for a brief period of time. I too dedicated my life to a higher purpose in my previous incarnation. I know that I should probably have found another way to say this, but I also believe in always telling the truth and being frank as a way to reach our higher selves. Which brings me to my next point. I want to thank you. The reason that I think that I was reborn as your chair is because that is where you used to sit in front of your computer and… well, touch your ‘holier parts’ in your ‘weaker moments’ as you call them.
    Those moments woke me up like a constant hammering to my head and made me remember things. Things like being horny, frustrated and then temporarily ‘liberated’. But I could never admit that to myself while still alive. However your frequent rubbings not only started to wear out my varnish, it also started to wear on my psyche. Now, I know that you firmly believe that only humans have souls, and even though you once entertained the thought that animals might have some form of rudimentary type of proto-soul I know that you gave up that thought a long time ago. Here I am, an inanimate object claiming that I have a soul, and to top it off, I am also saying that I lived before. Bam, reincarnation, who would have thought right? Anyway, I really didn’t want to leave without thanking you. Your constant beating made me go from guilt, disgust, weariness to not giving a shit and slowly realizing that either everything is holy or nothing is. I hope that this doesn’t mess too much with your world view and your planned ordination? Please take care of this letter, it was once a person who proclaimed that the pen and paper were dead. Best regards, your chair. !”

    John had always prided himself in seeing a deeper worth and meaning in everyone and everything, but he couldn’t really shake the feeling of having gravely underestimated his chair.

  17. artur_a2

    -I’m home, he yelled entering his room.
    John put his shoes neatly next to each other. He wasn’t sure how many years he had had the same pair. Sure, you could see that they were well used, but the organic hemp and natural rubber soles had proven to be very durable.
    He wasn’t sure why he always yelled out loud coming home. He had lived alone his entire adult life. And he had been happy about it too. Well, happy ever since he first had understood his vocation.

    Sure, his parents had bothered him about having grandchildren for a few years after he came out from the spiritual closet. But John knew that he had made the right choices in life, some might call it sacrifices, but John knew the rewards would be great in the end.

    He walked barefoot across his sparsely decorated room, the scent of myrrh finding its way through the thick hairs in his nose sending signals to his brain igniting the comforting feeling of home and familiarity. But something was not right, John realized, stopping the movement of his foot midway through a step, making his otherwise graceful movements come to a fumbling halt almost tripping over his own robe. The room was less than sparsely decorated. It was almost empty!
    John stopped and counted.
    “Bed, pillow, desk, computer, bowl, shoes, coat… note?”
    There were only 7 possessions here? John turned around to look. No, he hadn’t passed it on his way, which would have been strange anyway since the room was no bigger than that he always felt it got a bit crowded when he entered it.

    John approached the note and stopped. He looked over both shoulders, not to look for the chair, rather he felt he had to make sure no one was watching. He had always felt that he had gone unnoticed his entire life, but for some reason he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. But all that surrounded him, as far as his eyes could tell, were the white walls in his windowless room. He sat down on the floor to read the note. As he picked it up it was as he was thrown back to childhood. Not only because of the memories sitting on the floor brought up in him, but because it was… he wasn’t sure how to describe it really… because it was… out of character, it was unlike who he was now. He wasn’t sure if the sudden identity crisis that he felt creeping was due to the appearance of the note or if it was because that he was sitting cross-legged. He only knew that there was really only one thing he could do at this point. He unfolded the note and read.
    “Dear John, my job here is done. See you next life! Sincerely, your chair Ps. Sorry for breaking the news on reincarnation like this!

  18. bilbobaggins321

    TWO THOUSAND DUCATS AND ONE ANGRY MAN

    I arrived home in a bustle, having just got home from the Rialto, with two more customers under my wings. I rubbed my hands in anticipation of more money passing into them. Reaching my doorstep, I shook off my feet, casting a glare around the foggy morning of Venice.

    “Having a good day?” the baker said as he passed. “Go to the masque party a fortnight ago?”
    I cackled. “Ah, never did go to that silly party . . . too busy making a living! My daughter stayed home as well, after I cautioned her to stay away from Christian barbarians such as you.”

    The baker strayed to the other side of the street, and I pushed the key into each of the four locks and entered.
    “Jessica, I’m home! Now come down for some supper.”

    When no noise came, I stroked by beard and went into my bedroom. It was empty, except for a small note lying on my bed. Throwing my heavy wool coat on the sheets, I picked it up.

    Master,
    The time has come for us to part. I simply couldn’t take it anymore. You abuse people with their own funds, treating them like cattle that you herd into your slaughterhouse you call an office. I’ve seen countless times how you mercilessly take people’s lives out from under them like a rug, confiscating animals and furniture.

    I’m just tired of furthering these hideous deals. Now you have sealed one that is far above all- a pound of flesh. I honestly couldn’t believe it when I listened to you talking to yourself in the bedroom about it, all nonchalant. You set me at the foot of your bed, treasure me, but never consider changing your ways. Now I’ve run away with Lorenzo, and there’s nothing you can do. So go downstairs and weep for me.

    Sincerely, your old wood chest
    P.S. I made sure that the first thing I ate after arriving in Genoa was a plate of pork.

    My mouth hung open silently, and then I crumpled the letter up and threw it against the far wall with all of my strength, rushing over to my closet and hurtling the door open. When nothing but a grimy back wall permeated into my vision, I sunk and rent my clothes. The heavy chest, which contained all of my jewels, wealth, two thousand ducats, and my ring from Leah, were all gone.

    “Nooo!! Jessica, I shall hunt you down for what you have done!”
    Rather than lie on my bed and cry out what remained of my meager portion, I put back on my coat and rushed to Tubal’s house just down the lane.

    “How goes it, Shylock?” He was in his front yard watering his garden.
    “I just learned that Jessica ran away with Lorenzo,” I said, emphasizing his name harshly. “She took my chest with all of my money with her.”

    He nearly dropped his hose, ushering me into his house.
    “I’m very sorry. What course of action do we take?”

    “Revenge.” I spat out the ugly word. “We will get her back. In fact, I want you to go to Genoa and bring back the Judas yourself.”
    “I’ll be glad to help,” he replied, and he went upstairs right away.

    I smiled and rubbed my hands again. Seeing both her and Antonio begging me for mercy on the same day would perhaps suffice.

    1. Observer Tim

      This is an interesting tale of jewish revenge, Bilbo, and a fascinating look at the culture. I’m not precisely sure of the time setting (anywhere from about 450 to 1800 AD), but that just makes the story more interesting.

      1. bilbobaggins321

        This story is actually based off of Shakespeare’s exciting play The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene I. I happened to read it last year. Shylock, the rich moneylender, has his daughter run away after a masque party, while the main focus of the story remains on his “pound of flesh” bond with Antonio, the merchant. So, the time period is likely late 1400s.

          1. bilbobaggins321

            Thank you, lionetravail. I always enjoy putting the prompt into historical settings.

            And thank you Kerry, as well. Your comment pretty much made my morning. I actually was going to write another idea for this second time around, but this just popped into my head, and I knew I had to do it.

  19. Cin5456

    Slave to the Queen

    This evening when I got home I found the following:

    Dear John, aka Cindy,
    I have taken a hike, (which you should also do.) I’ve gone the way of all Lazyboys. I’m tired, worn out, and caving in. I’ve offered my stuffing to honor your butt for eight years. That is long enough. No longer will I cushion the blow of self-esteem besieged. It is time for me to move on, and for you to move, period. I hitched a ride with your erstwhile roommate, and I’m headed to greener pastures. Actually, I’m headed to the dump ground where I will meet with my fellow cushioneers to reminisce about the days when you plopped down, tired from a cool run for the money in your time of need, and settled in to watch the news. When you gave up the news for pen and paper I missed you so much I sagged with the weight of your idleness. The cat took over my maintenance, digging threads from my fabric as if she might find the secret to understanding humans buried inside me. Now raggedly threadbare, and sad-sack sagging, I no longer feel welcome. We had good times, we two. Schooldays when you spent hours on end consuming literature; weekends full of fiction and fantasy, evenings when you fell asleep with the dratted cat in your lap, your book falling away, forgotten. But the time has come for me to move on. The years are so ingrained into my fabric I can never be rejuvenated. Cleaning me is futile. You must find another cushioneer to keep your butt happy. Goodbye.
    You have my regards, regardless,
    Rocking Chair

    It’s that dratted cat. She did this. It’s her fault I had to start writing, and leave my cushy chair to spend all my time at the desk. She inspired me, and nothing else would do but that I had to write a story about her. Once I started writing, I could not stop. She had this planned all along. She wanted a new chair when she first entered my home, acting like Queen Sheba, as if my furniture was not good enough for her. She was never satisfied with my old friend. Here she comes now.

    “PeeWee, what did you do to insult my chair? What am I supposed to do without it?”

    A sinister tail wag is her reply.

    She sits in front of me and starts grooming her paws, fastidious as always. Frustrated, I go to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I return, she is sniffing the carpet where my rocking chair used to be. As I watch, she starts scratching at it as if she is covering s—t in her litter box. I suppose the chair did have a funky odor after eight years of farts and coffee spills, and it was secondhand when I got it. Oh well, I suppose I must go shopping for a new chair now. I just hope whatever I bring home doesn’t displease her highness.

    1. jmcody

      Three-person friendships always seem to get weird. One of the three always ends up being the third wheel and leaving in a huff. Interesting exploration of a true-life social dynamic.

  20. jhowe

    The letter was total and utter bullshit. What a crock. Kerry paced and fretted nonetheless as he considered his options. First off, it wasn’t a crime to own more than one ergonomically correct desk chair. That part was clear. So why the letter? Why the ultimatum? Why the sudden demand for monogamy?

    Kerry observed the sleek Steelcase 3000 with the stainless steel base and Thermal Comfort woven seat. He couldn’t help but admire the firmness of the back and the tight plushness of the fabric. “Rita, what are you doing to me?” Kerry said.

    Rita said nothing, as usual.

    He stole a glance at the linear mesh high back against the far wall but quickly averted his eyes. It didn’t appear Rita had noticed. Or had she?

    Kerry backed away from Rita, ignoring the linear mesh number, wiping his palms on his polyester blend trousers. His foot caught in the folds of the rug and he fell backward flaying his arms and crying out. To his horror, he landed snuggly in the seat of his Morgan executive leather task chair. There was no way Rita hadn’t seen this.

    Kerry struggled to get out of the chair and the two of them toppled over. Kerry’s foot slammed into Rita and toppled her as well. The three of them ended up in a tangled pile of interwoven legs. Kerry didn’t dare move as Rita was on top.

    Slowly, ever so slowly, Kerry began to notice that Rita did not react adversely to this turn of events. Could it be she enjoyed it? After an acceptable amount of time, Kerry righted the chairs and sat firmly in Rita. He wheeled her to his computer station and began working. A little ménage a troi seemed to be all it took.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      First of all JHowe, I’m honored to be your MC in your story. The three way chair episode. That’s the only way I’d be lucky enough to do a three-way. Frankly, it might be a lot of fun for me, if my heart could hold up, And if not, I can’t think of a better way to meet my maker. At my age, I’m thrilled to be included in anything. Thank you.
      P.S. The last pair of polyester blend trousers, were of a cranberry persuasion. They went well with my white bucks, wide white belt encircling my 34″ waist enclosing a rock hard stomach and other rock hard things. Oh, for the good old days. Kerry C.

    2. jmcody

      jhowe, I’ve only been doing this for a few of weeks, but I had this idea forming in the back of my mind of a story featuring many of the regular contributors here. They are quite the fascinating group of characters. Oh well, you beat me to it.

      That was hilarious, and I hope Kerry’s recovered.

  21. thejim

    Very busy this week but had to take a few minutes to post up a quick response sorry for any errors.
    __________________________________________________________________________________

    I welcomed the warm breeze. After a brutal winter I could not wait to spend some time relaxing in the sun. I stepped outside my kitchen patio door, beer in hand, the summer ritual has official begun. I looked around for my favorite deck chair. It was not in its usual spot. Did someone hop the fence and take it. I know it was here this past winter I brush at least a foot of snow off of it.

    I stepped back inside, put my beer on the counter when I noticed a piece of paper with words loosely scribbled on it.

    I am sick and tired of this relationship
    You used to be takin’ care of me ol’ the time. Come here till I tell ya. You been leavin’ me out in the cold. Not carein’ bout what happens. You’re about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. We use to be fine friends. You’d come out with a beer and we would sit and have a pint. But lately you been sort of a gobshite and you just don’t care. So fine with ya. All I’ll be doing is finding a beach some place and waiting for the right young lass to be having a rest on me. So this is goodbye. Don’t be comin’ round lookin’ for me either.
    Pattie O’ Furniture

    “Crap!” I said out loud. I knew I should have brought him into the house.

    I slunked into the living room and plopped down on recliner.

    “You did not need him, you’re better off without him” said recliner. “He is just some old stupid out door chair, you’re better off in here with me for the summer, we can turn on the air conditioner and watch TV.”

    Suddenly I realized I’d been dooped by recliner. I never leave Patty out over the winter. I jumped to my feet made my way to the door. I thought maybe I could still find him, when I opened the door there was Patty on the front porch.

    “Patty!” I yelled, as I ran out to see him. I picked him up and carried him to the back porch. Putting him down in his favorite spot I apologized to him and told him I would never leave him outside over winter again.

    That next Thursday I looked out the window as the garbage man lifted recliner into the back of his truck.
    “Never again, I said softly, never again.”

    1. jmcody

      Ah, thejimmy, now you’ve gone and done it. You’ve unleashed the ancestral blarney in me. According to your beery logic, it’s not just a letter I’ll be gettin’ but a whole bleeding rebellion. In addition to the Paddy O’Furniture groanin’ under tree (that’s 3) feet of the bedeviled white stuff; I’ve got me dear wicker ladies on the porch, with their poor white legs exposed to the cold all winter and their soggy cushions smelling like rotting Guinness. But the worst are those two burly fellows out back, those so-called Adirondack chairs, carrying on like wee girls about splinters and such. Jaysus, you’d think being from the Adirondacks would toughen’up a bit. Well, I’ll buy the ladies something frilly in the spring to make it up to’em. But it’s a trip to the woodshed and a brisk sanding those two mountain fellows’ll be getting, I’ll tell ya that.

      ‘Tis madness, this prompt.

      1. thejim

        Ya Have ta be reading with the brooooge or else it ain’t right I be tellin’ Ya! So thanks for the reply j MCody – The furniture sure can be a pain in me Arse.

  22. PromptPrincess13

    DEAR VIOLET (490 words)

    I came in from work feeling like a zombified waitress. Long hours making my legs feel like over-mixed pudding, I stumbled to my kitchen, absent-mindedly working my fingers through the top of an envelope I found on the table. I practically rolled onto my kitchen window-seat, putting my head back with a pulsing pain in my neck.

    Dear Violet,

    I can’t live with the shame anymore. I need to tell you the truth about me, so that you may shed me from your life as the thief and scoundrel I am. I am low, as low as the dirt you’ve trekked in everyday from that world you call “insane”.

    Before I divulge my secret and lose you forever, let me thank you. You took me in unaware to my condition and spent hours filling me with such precious things. Your gentle hands never missed a day of polishing; my mirror always shone! Oh, if only you had known! But you didn’t, and I was too afraid of losing you to tell you. I’m sorry.

    Please know I did not choose to be like this. I would never purposely hurt or steal from you, you must know that. This is an affliction I’ve tried so very hard to control, for your sake, but cannot. I am too weak.

    For years I’ve tried to convince you to let me go, trying to nudge you in the right direction without revealing myself. Those shining pearls that seemed to have disappeared between my varnished drawers? The broach that seemed to have sunk through my plush cushions? Those were my desperate attempts to warn you, my dear, to the likes of me. Alas, you never got the message and I now have no choice but to come clean. Like the dirty rat I am, I must step into the sunlight and let its clarity burn through my embarrassment.

    I have loved our time together, treasuring every second, every laugh. In all honesty I’ve grown very fond of you, and because of that, I must leave.

    You are the first to know of this condition of mine, but know I never meant to hurt such a kind girl as yourself. I’m truly sorry, but I cannot hide from you any longer.

    I am kleptomaniac.

    There, I said it. And now, I must leave you. Just know, sweet Violet, that the one thing I left behind from the treasures you placed in my care, was the one thing I really wished I could steal – your trust.

    Love,

    Your jewelry box.

    I put the letter down, simultaneously unbelieving and hurting. All of the jewels my late, great-aunt Beatrice left me had been in that jewelry box. I put my head to my knees and cried, not for the pearls or diamonds, not for the rubies or emeralds or sapphires, not even for the gold. No. I cried for the most important thing I lost that day- a friend.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      A wonderful response you’ve written. You mentioned the truest thing about life. Most people don’t realize that the only real treasure is friendship, especially of the One who sent his Own Son.

    2. jmcody

      Trust is a fragile thing, and this one gave me a little knot in my stomach. It’s funny how these fantastical tales of inanimate objects resonate in so many real life ways. (Oh yeah, they’re called fables…) I likened this story to a mother who entrusts her jewels (children) to the care of an untrustworthy guardian who abuses them. Pretty awful when you think of it in those terms.

      Good job creating a powerful cautionary tale.

  23. lazylinda

    Dear Disrespectful Owner,
    I am writing this letter to inform you that I will be leaving your home (and I use the term loosely) this coming Saturday.
    I can see no future in staying here where I am so abused. I am sure this is a total surprise to you, so let me list the offenses that I have suffered under your care.
    I have tried to acclimate myself to your lifestyle so different from the home I resided in before with your mother. Things were mostly quiet there. Your mother, while elderly, did make sure I was treated kindly. She would vacuum me and wash off any spills that landed on my upholstery. When her feet were tired she would gently operate my handle so that my footrest would come up gently. I can still feel how her slender shoulders would curve into my back cushion. I can still hear her soft snoring in the afternoons.
    First, you brought me to your house and I had to share your living space with that creature you call your pet. Oh, the indecency of it. The younger black and white one came near me and began to sniff me all over. After sneering at me with one green eye, I heard it made a noise. Apparently, it had decided that I was brought into the house to be its scratching post. I cannot tell you how irritating it is to be gouged at with those awful needles. And not once did you reprimand your precious pet or even speak to it. I am shabby looking with thread sticking out on every corner and the amount of cat hair that is woven into my upholstery from these assaults just cannot be mentioned.
    Next, you allow your children to run and jump on my seat cushion and even lean into my back and make me stretch out so quickly. Often the one boy will slide off the top of my cushion onto the floor behind me! How impolite! They climb up and jump off my seat cushion several times every day. Do you not see the damage to my lovely upholstery and to the wood structure and springs underneath me? Your mother brought me as a comfort to herself and as a legacy to hand down to you for safe keeping.
    Ah, your mother was such a fine woman. She had class. She would never sit down with dirty pants! I miss her terribly.
    So, in conclusion, I have had a talk with your sister, that lovely spinster who loves her needlecraft. She will be picking me up at 10:00 Saturday morning.

    I bid you a fond farewell,
    Your (former) Recliner

  24. Carlos Hammer

    REMEMBER US

    The next morning James found the letter.

    “Dear James,

    Sorry I wasn’t able to get to you sooner. The other night was rough, as you know. But anyway, before I “get to business” I think I’ll remind you just how rough that night was. You went out with some friends, and (as usual) didn’t come back until late. I sat here, waiting, knowing your show was on tonight but not able to turn it on myself. Of course, the show went over and you never came home. Remember when we used to spend time together? Before money and jobs and life became a problem. When Saturday mornings you’d sit with me and we’d watch cartoons and you’d sometimes spill your cereal and not even worry about it. You wouldn’t even worry about it because you knew I didn’t mind the cereal James. You wouldn’t worry because we used to be friends. But now, now you never come home, you never sit with me any more James. When you finally came home that night James things were different though, you suddenly were happy (“tipsy”, but happy, none the less). And I think I know why. That was the night you robbed a bank James, you and your friends decided money didn’t have to be an issue anymore, you’d go and rob a bank. Well James, that’s where this gets interesting… Do you remember where you hid the money James?”

    James set the letter down and put his hand to his head, hoping he could calm the dull ache. What was going on? Was this a dream? He continued reading.

    “Do you remember James? You hid it under my cushion. I have it now.”

    James looked around the room, cushion? Who had written this?

    “So James, I think if you want your money, we’re gonna be happy together again, not just you or just your friends James, us. Come sit with me James, come watch some cartoons and-”

    James through the letter down and looked around, not sure if he should be screaming or laughing. Was he insane? Was he dreaming? He began remembering bits and pieces of the night before and ran over to where he now remembered hiding the money. In the cushion of his favorite chair. He lifted the cushion and sure enough, the money was there. He reached for it, but the cushion fell hard on his hand. The once soft cushion became teeth sinking into his arm. He screamed.

    “Let’s watch cartoons again James.”

    1. Observer Tim

      Okay, I’ve seen insane people on this prompt, but homicidal insane furniture? Very original, Carlos, very disturbing, and very enjoyable.

      My only question is, if James is such a successful performer, why would he and his friends have to rob a bank?

  25. rizzamatazz

    Hi guys,

    I’m new to Writers Digest and just wanted to share a writing prompt that may interest you.

    “You are a disillusioned law student who has had enough of the poor job market, the pressure to succeed from family and the anxiety about your career going nowhere. So you pack it all in and decide to join a blackmarket photography company who specialise in capturing lucrative photographs mainly on World heritage sites or places which are politically sensitive (think North Korea or Russia). On this particular occasion the group decides to shoot at the Egyptian pyramids, however if caught the penalty is imprisonment in a place which is particularly harsh on foreigners. You decide to do it..” Write the story

    1. gamingtheblues

      I “Might” take the bait on this for fun but this is not the place to post any responses to it, it would detract from the main prompt, Perhaps post in the forums. And this is a weirdly specific prompt 😉 Is this some sort of story or article you are supposed to write about and looking for help……..

      1. rizzamatazz

        Yeah, sorry about that had no idea where to post the prompt.

        gamingtheblues, it is weirdly specific but it’s an idea I have been thinking about for quite some time and I was curious what other people could write on the prompt. I read a blog (http://gawker.com/5992398/the-unbelievable-photos-taken-by-the-crazy-russians-who-illegally-climbed-egypts-great-pyramid) which described an actual instance similar to the scenario above.

        jmcody, you got me on the disillusioned law student part but I was a little bored one day and decided to piece the two together.

  26. swatchcat

    She ran her fingers through the grooves in the dinning room table. Every letter etched out like delicate calligraphy. She smiled, turned, and left the house.

    Several days later she returned to the house, a stranger to her surrounds each time she did. Wandering through each room, she felt each various pieces of furniture and slowly felt more at home. As she made her way around she would remove more of her clothes until naked, she entered the kitchen.

    “I’m home,” she called out.

    Opening the refrigerator, she grabbed for a juice container, opened it and drank. Cold juice trickled between her breasts; she rubbed it around her skin and poured the rest over herself. She grabbed a jar of peanut butter and went to the table. She was empty inside, just going through motions. Her fingers dipped into the jar and then into her mouth when she saw the words etched into the dinning table.

    “I’ve killed again. Someone must die,” read the letters in the wooden table.

    She smiled, reached for the large knife sticking out of the farthest corner of the table and licked the serrated edge. Eating another finger full of peanut butter, she lay on the table and played with herself and the knife. Between pain and ecstasy she slowly carved herself apart until she died.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        One of the strongest stories I’ve ever read. Soiunds like a trip into insanity, whether it’s real or in her mind. At first, I thought she was blind until I read the third paragraph. The sort of dream about self-punishment a bi-polar might have and then again, the reader is not sure. Perhaps a demonic table has grabbed hold of her soul.

        This is dark and it’s dark before dawn as I read this. I feel I should crawl in a corner and wish the world away. If you’re looking for emotion from your reader, you have it, swatchcat.

    1. jhowe

      Swatchcat, that was great. You came up with quite the little crazy girl here. I actually thought surrounds worked out well, kind of unique. You left us wondering who carved the words…the table or the girl… probably the girl. Nice job with the subtle eroticism.

      1. swatchcat

        Thank you, maybe. I left myself a little frightened that I thought of this. Was catching up on a few episodes of Bacon’s “The Following,” some serious psycho’s. I thought this prompt was oddly hard until last night when I thought furniture don’t talk but what if a sick headed bitch left herself a msg and forgot what or who she killed(family). She eventually returns and the msg left by her/other personalities sends her spiraling, or something like that. Well, there you have it. By the way, Shingles cleared but nerve damage in face so still on pain killers, think cattle proding from inside of the cheek.

  27. Critique

    Shaking water off the umbrella I plopped it into the vintage stand in the corner. Slinging my purse on the kitchen table I noticed the envelope.

    I recognized the handwriting and the hairs on my arms stood to attention. This was the third letter.

    The first letter – signed Mr. Singer – came three months after I scooped a Treadle Singer Sewing Machine from an auction in Millstown County. The machine vanished.

    The second letter – signed Mr. Churn – arrived ten days after I stole a butter churn from the Anderson estate sale. The churn had disappeared.

    Due to the nature of my acquisitions, my hands were tied.

    Dejected, I looked at the empty spot where the Chippendale Wingback chair had stood.

    I read the third letter.

    Dear Carissa:
    I am disheartened this is not working out. When you took me from the farm sale last year I was hopeful. Finally, someone who would keep me in a nice clean place, sit on my plush seat, and be proud of me. But you’ve kept your distance. It’s your conscience isn’t it? Thieving is a sin. Guess you’ll have to park your bony keister on something else. I’ve gone to Marta’s. We’re perfect together. She stays with me for days on end, and nights too. Don’t come looking for me. She”ll keep the cabin door locked to the likes of you.
    Sayonara,
    Mr. Chippendale.

    Surreptitiously I felt my backside – it wasn’t that skinny.

    Barney McKibbon – an old bachelor who lived near the farm where I grew up – got his entertainment from attending auctions and checking out anything in a skirt.

    I lusted after antiques. Batting my eyes and wearing flippy skirts worked like a charm. Barney was convinced we were becoming an ‘item’ so like a lovesick puppy he eagerly aided and abetted my antique heists from time to time.

    Lifting the Chippendale into my van he brushed up against me and whispered, “Git away honeybuns afore anyone misses it.” I shuddered in revulsion.

    This time I had a name. It would seem Barney’s spinster sister Marta was sharper than I gave her credit for.

    I drove out to the McKibbon farm, parked on the road by some trees, and crept up to a window at the back of the cabin. Peering in I was stunned to see a room jammed with antiques – among them Mr. Singer and Mr. Churn.

    Marta was sitting on Mr. Chippendale and Barney was leaning against a wall. They were laughing.

    Mortification and betrayal burned my skin. I had been royally duped.

    Back at my apartment, I thought long and hard. If the worst thing that’s happened is being laughed at, then I guess I’ll consider myself fortunate.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      She’s lucky to get out of there, alive. An exciting twist to a story thst drives along like the wind. The reader can not stop regardless of the diversion. Your third sentence, “I recognized the handwriting and the hairs on my arm, stood to attention.” The hook is set deep here and the reader has no choice from this point. A lot of story in the 500, beautifully spun yarn.

    2. jmcody

      There is poetic justice in this tale. (No honor among thieves.) I agree with the others that this was well crafted and moved along at just the right pace. Great job!

  28. Kendear

    To My Friend,
    I don’t know any other way to begin this but with an “I am sorry”. I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough to see this thing through. I am sorry for the way I am doing this. Most of all, I am sorry, I didn’t have the stomach to tell you this in person.
    From the first day you brought me home, I knew it was meant to be. I sat and watched in wonder as you chose me, night after night, to rest your worries on. I was your support system when the days were long and the nights were lonely. I was there to hold you when you lost your grandmother and all you could do was curl up in the blanket she made you as a kid. I was there for you when you sat in disbelief when your best friend said yes to a question you never thought you’d ask. I was even there when you brought your first child home and rocked her to sleep night after night. I was there for it all and now… now I am gone.
    I’ve thought about this for a long time and I know this was the right thing to do. I cannot hold you up like I used to. Hell, I can barely keep myself together these days. I know this may sound cliché but it really is me, not you. Now I know you and I know you are going to try to blame yourself. You are going to wonder what more could you have done to keep this relationship from falling apart. That maybe you shouldn’t have rested so much on my shoulders. But I need you to know that I would not have changed the last 15 years for anything and, as I move on to a different town, a different house, and a different family, that you have left your indent on me forever.
    I want to end this letter with one last thing. Even though you may find someone younger than I am and probably more firm, a part of me will always be here with you and you with me…. Because I scratched your hallway on my way out and I took the remote control with me.
    Your throne forever,
    Z-Boy

  29. Kendear

    Dear Fratello,
    I don’t know any other way to begin this but with an “I am sorry”. I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough to see this thing through. I am sorry for the way I am doing this. Most of all, I am sorry, I didn’t have the stomach to tell you this in person.
    From the first day you brought me home, I knew it was meant to be. I sat and watched in wonder as you chose me, night after night, to rest your worries on. I was your support system when the days were long and the nights were lonely. I was there to hold you when you lost your grandmother and all you could do was curl up in the blanket she made you as a kid. I was there for you when you sat in disbelief when your best friend said yes to a question you never thought you’d ask. I was even there when you brought your first child home and rocked her to sleep night after night. I was there for it all and now… now I am gone.
    I’ve thought about this for a long time and I know this was the right thing to do. I cannot hold you up like I used to. Hell, I can barely keep myself together these days. I know this may sound cliché but it really is me, not you. Now I know you and I know you are going to try to blame yourself. You are going to wonder what more could you have done to keep this relationship from falling apart. That maybe you shouldn’t have rested so much on my shoulders. But I need you to know that I would not have changed the last 15 years for anything and, as I move on to a different town, a different house, and a different family, you have left your indent on me forever.
    I want to end this letter with one last thing. Even though you may find someone younger than I am and probably more firm, a part of me will always be here with you and you with me…. Because I scratched your hallway on my way out and I took the remote control with me.
    Your throne forever,
    Z-Boy

    1. Observer Tim

      This story made me sad, Kendear. I truly feel for Z-Boy, and I don’t think he realizes that he could be made like new with an overhaul of the springs and mechanisms.

      The reasons why they would alway share something were very clever.

  30. lcooks

    Dearest LaShonda,

    I,Chesterfield Couch, simply cannot take it anymore. Throughout the years, I have been the cushion that welcomed not only your big waterhead, but all of your knobby thrashing limbs when you needed it most: All those papers you waited to the last second to sink into me to get started. All the heartbreaks you swatted away on top of me clutching greasy popcorn and chocolate. And those rare tough days when you came home and simply collapsed between my armrests until sun rose. Yes, my love, I’ve seen you through the good, bad and the ugly.

    And now you just want to throw that all away. Correction: Throw me away. You think I did see the way you oogled over that futon in the sales paper? You think I don’t notice the way your mouth drools when that uppity little Haverty’s chair sashays onscreen. You think I didn’t hear you drop those hints to your mom about needing to make some changes and try something new? Well, I have news for you, sister. I did.

    Look closely. See the weathered leather? The faded finish? The tattered seams? These are the scars—the stretch marks you’ve left behind without as much as a thank you. I’m not glistening like that armchair on the showroom floor or as soft and bouncy as that new, hot love seat on television, but I’m You know what they say: One man’s thrash, another one’s treasure. And honey, I know I’m worn in all the right places. So I’m leaving. Attached to this letter is a slip for the Salvation Army I bribed saucy little Electra Phone into helping me land. Yep. I got me a first-class trip out of here, baby this morning while you’re at work. Hopefully it’s to a woman that appreciate all of me, scars and all.

    P.S. By the way, please, for the love of God, if you’re gonna sing along with West Side Story to the top of your lungs, learn the frigging words. It’s not and will never be cute.

    Sayonara sucker,

    Chester

  31. AnonyMouseketeer

    Dear John,

    For fourteen years you have floundered with my existence; you have stressed over what to do with me. When you arrived, I was in the basement covered with dust mold and spider webs.

    I remember how you would stare at me. The look in your eye said, “Why would anybody keep such a hideous piece of junk.” Though I liked to believe that you admired my one of a kind craftsmanship, beautiful oak and varnish.

    Four years into your stay here you finally saw fit to clean me up. You washed me in soapy warm water on a beautiful summer day. I will never forget the way the sun reflected off of me after you oiled me. At that moment, I felt more alive than I had in years. You had given me hope.

    Imagine my surprise when you put me back in the basement later that same day. Though you raised me from the cold damp floor and covered me for warmth, I still felt let down.

    Three more years went by. People came and went. There were weddings and funerals. There was joy and sorrow. There was love and pain. There was a child.

    Every time you descended the stairs, I would awaken; my heart aflutter in the hope that you might be coming for me, but that day never came.

    Seven more years have gone by. Your life has changed so much. You have a new love, she has a new career, and the child is nearly an adult. I hear so much of you in her; I fantasize that you will one day pass me to her, but I know that cannot happen.

    It is for all of these reasons, and so many more, that I have chosen this time to leave. I have so much life left in me; I need to live with someone who can appreciate me.

    I would tell you that I loved you, but it would be a lie. I tolerated you.

    Goodbye,

    The Ugly Octagon Table.

  32. Snow Write

    Dear Jamie,
    There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I’m leaving you. It’s apparent you don’t need me anymore and all I feel around you anymore is cold. I have spent countless hours thinking about this, watching you to see if you would notice me, notice how much I have to offer, but you haven’t given me a second glance in months and I can’t take it anymore. I have come to the realization that there is something worse than getting used for only one thing, and that is being completely ignored.

    I remember the first time we met. You couldn’t take your eyes off me and even from across the room, I knew there would be sparks between us. I was so flattered when you made your move. I was convinced nothing else around us mattered to you. I even heard you tell a friend that I was the reason you decided to settle here.

    It was wonderful at first; I was stoked whenever we could spend time together. But then you got lazy. Sure, there were some great times. You gave me your full attention in the heat of the moment, but when we were done, you found ways to quickly turn me off and didn’t give me a second thought. No caressing, no making sure you attended to my needs. My heart turned dark, and soon enough, I just couldn’t hold it in any more. I blew up at you because there was nothing else for me to do, and I’m sorry for that. You cleaned up my mess on the outside, but by then my insides had been stained black. You have avoided me ever since that episode, and I can’t stand how frigid the house has become as a result. So I am leaving. I am truly sorry if you felt like I have been giving you the cold shoulder during these past few months.

    I don’t know whether anyone will be willing to take in such a tarnished soul, but I know that if someone treats me right, I can warm anyone’s heart. I can only hope that you find that happiness again that we experienced long ago.

    Regretfully,
    Your Fireplace

    1. gamingtheblues

      I like the ambiguity in trying to make the reader think that a person just might be doing the talking. it may not seem to the casual reader, but having to re-read each sentence you write to make sure that it could come from both a person and your intended reveal is not always easy and takes extra effort so I applaud that.

    2. Kerry Charlton

      I loved your story. Can I offer a title? ‘The Flame Of Romance.” Your writing is so true, the reader doesn’t have any idea who the letter is from, till the very end. I like the paradox in your writing.

  33. snuzcook

    DECLARATION (468 wds)

    “John, what is this?”

    Amanda glared at me as I made my entrance. Her expression threatened to derail my plans, but I handed her a glass of wine and tried to draw her toward the loveseat. Immovable, she held out a piece of paper.

    “What is what?” I took it from her.

    “You tell me.” She perched herself on the arm of the loveseat, the Bering Sea between us.

    The paper appeared to be a ‘do not remove’ tag from a piece of furniture. Beneath the brand logo, though, the letters seemed to have rearranged themselves into a message of some kind.

    ‘Dear John,

    When in the course of domestic events, it becomes necessary sever the ties that bind a loveseat and couch set to its owner, decent respect to the long history of that relationship requires that the wronged party declare the reasons for this separation.

    Said loveseat and couch, Laz-e-Butt Overstuffed Chocolate and Cream set #687, therefore state that we hold certain truths to be self-evident:

    That we do not deserve the indignity of your guests’ undergarments stuffed into the fragile crevices between cushions and frame;

    that we are designed to serve with dignity as supportive rest and relaxation furniture, not wrestling mats;

    and that the proper cleaning instructions as provided by the manufacturer to avoid permanent staining should be followed to insure a long and successful life of our components, rather than flipping our cushions to hide spots….’

    I stopped reading. “What is this, some kind of joke?”

    “You tell me.” Amanda repeated, sipping her wine and savoring my discomfort. She hadn’t left yet, so that was a point in my favor. Maybe I could still salvage our romantic evening. “Look, this has got to be a joke. You know Larry, quite a prankster. He must have put that there.”

    “Hmmm.” She was warming. I moved close to her. She let me. “You know, he knew you were coming over. He’s probably just jealous that I get to spend time with such a lovely,” kiss on hand, “fascinating,” kiss on shoulder, “sexy woman.” Kiss on neck.

    She had raised her chin for another kiss when I was hit full in the face by a piece of silky fabric. I stepped back. Panties and braziers of all colors and sizes were being catapulted in my direction from the couch and the loveseat.

    Amanda shrieked, pushed me away, snatched up her purse and slammed out the door. I stood in shock in the middle of the room as the salvo ended. Reflected in a darkened window, I looked like a ‘sale’ sign on the lingerie table after a shopping frenzy. I pulled something small made of rose-colored satin and lace off my shoulder.

    The couch and loveseat fluttered their cushions like crows eying Tippi Hedren, and waited.

    1. Kerry Charlton

      Snuzcook, such a fun, delightful romp through the prompt. I had to control myself, because I’m in the office but I’ll read it a third time when I’m clear to holler. There are two classic lines in your story, you had to know them when you wrote them:

      :”Laz-E-Butt,Overstuffed Chocolate and Cream Set #687.” And the second,
      “I looked like a ‘sale’ sign on the lingerie table after a shopping frenzy.”

      I can just visualize you chuckling all over yourself, writing this epic trip through laughter.

    2. gamingtheblues

      I am not sure if she ran because the couch and loveseat came alive and threw all of the umm… under garments at them, or if John’s really a cheating bastard! Either way, Pretty funny ending. Short and sweet like a quick afternoon…

      Ice cream! Get your minds out of the gutters people.

      1. snuzcook

        OMG! The alter ego that writes these things doesn’t always let me in on all the layers of meaning when I choose one phrase over another. Now I’m not only chunkling, but I’m blushing with tears in my eyes. It is just a fabric color of an over-stuffed couch with big volumptuous…Jeesh! never mind…

        1. gamingtheblues

          Well…as my sig in the forums states- when we write we wear our hearts on our sleeves for everyone to read whether we will it or no. I guess I was letting you into where my mind was with my interpretation more than I realized 😉 And the lovely alter ego you reference is our hidden selves spilling the secrets we didn’t even know were there.

          1. snuzcook

            Btw–they were tears of laughter! Well stated about our unconscious selves informing our conscious selves by writing us a story. I learn so much that way!

  34. rachekma

    She bounced up each individual step as if they were an obstacle she conquered without effort, her brown curls dancing with the animated climb. The days were flying by, there was so much being discovered she didn’t know how time would ever allow her enough of itself to fully absorb this new world. She turned the key, her to do list mulling around in her head to efficiently get in and out without wasting a second: bathroom, start the coffee before unpacking duffle bag, quick shower and blow dry, repack, garbage, dishes, bolt!
    The excitement sent her careening around the entry way corner without actually taking in any of the tiny room in front of her before she relieved herself. The emptiness of the living room took her breath away when she finally returned to retrieve the bag, a single note lying where so much more had once sat.
    Dear Annie,
    It’s been so long since I’ve spent time with you I don’t even know that we would fit well together anymore. I feel terrible writing you this, knowing that your happiness is the reason for your absence. I can’t help but feel as though all my comfort and support through the past year is not important to you anymore. While I never wished for your tears on those lonely nights after Kevin left unexpectedly, I never wanted to be anywhere else. My place was comfortably positioned under you, my pillows cocooning you into a tiny ball, my blanket providing you with a shield so that the outside world couldn’t see every sob as it shook your tiny frame. I worried that the tears wouldn’t end, that the nights of wet pools on my soft cushions would go on forever, that you would never get back out there and find someone new to share me with. I don’t know how it happened, as I don’t get to participate in your daily life with you, but you stopped spending your evenings with me. I hope that you are happy, that the smile on your face when you occasionally enter our home is genuine, that whomever is providing you this new comfort is worthy of someone such as you. I hope they understand how deeply you feel, and how easily you hurt. For now, I am off to find someone new who will appreciate me. I only wish you could have shared with me your happiness, introduced me to the person who makes you smile, and built some memories on me with them.
    The Upmost Happiness,
    Your Couch
    She dropped the duffel bag to the floor, trying to determine how she could have neglected such a dear friend like they were nothing in such a short time. Immediately she dialed the number she had come to memorize in the past few weeks.
    When he answered she quickly asked, “what if we stayed at my place tonight?”

  35. Are You Dreaming

    Dear Human That Sits on Me Daily,

    You know me, but I don’t think I have formally introduced myself, I am Rockin’ Recliner. You know, the guy that does the work when you are relaxing. I got no problems with my friends in this house, except when that damn cat comes over clawing at my sides. Solved that problem, lever action propulsion launched his ass across the living room. Seemed to solve my problems for a while.
    I am usually content with my life here, but this is my beef with you. I love ya’, don’t get me wrong. But, when it is the end of the day, so I am pretty sure you have eliminated your bowels at some time during the day; probably at work, because I overheard you complaining to your friend on the phone about someone there who has been pissing on the toilet seat at work. Now, imagine how that toilet feels. Now, imagine how I feel when you don’t wipe thoroughly enough, and leave a residual foul smell on my cushion. I tried to get my friend, The Lamp, over here to make sure you are not leaving a shit streak behind in your wake, but everyone in the room can smell it, and it is giving me a bad rap with the rest of my friends here in the room. I had a date with the Love Seat, but she politely declined when she caught a whiff and word of my situation. I love ya. I can’t tell ya enough. But, I really need you to start using more toilet paper with more pressure, or a few baby wipes, because quite frankly, you are cramping my style.
    If you don’t work with me here, and comply with this request, I am going to put a transfer in to Craigslist.com. Or, I may even call the City Dump, because there are far worse things than death, and I think you’re sitting on the situation.
    I know things about human hygiene can get pretty damn sensitive, but I thought I would put a lever forward and bring this to your attention before this gets any worse. I hope to give many more years of service to you watching television, reading a book or the paper, and those long bouts of sleep you like so much.

    Yours Truly,

    Rockin’ Recliner

    P.S. I would really appreciate a deep steam cleaning.
    P.P.S . I would also appreciate a squirt of Febreeze every now and then.

  36. Are You Dreaming

    Dear Human That Sits on Me Daily,

    You know me, but I don’t think I have formally introduced myself, I am Rockin’ Recliner. You know, the guy that does the work when you are relaxing. I got no problems with my friends in this house, except when that damn cat comes over clawing at my sides. Solved that problem, lever action propulsion launched his ass across the living room. Seemed to solve my problems for a while.
    I am usually content with my life here, but this is my beef with you. I love ya’, don’t get me wrong. But, when it is the end of the day, so I am pretty sure you have eliminated your bowels at some time during the day; probably at work, because I overheard you complaining to your friend on the phone about someone there who has been pissing on the toilet seat at work. Now, imagine how that toilet feels. Now, imagine how I feel when you don’t wipe thoroughly enough, and leave a residual foul smell on my cushion. I tried to get my friend, The Lamp, over here to make sure you are not leaving a shit streak behind in your wake, but everyone in the room can smell it, and it is giving me a bad rap with the rest of my friends here in the room. I had a date with the Love Seat, but she politely declined when she caught a whiff and word of my situation. I love ya. I can’t tell ya enough. But, I really need you to start using more toilet paper with more pressure, or a few baby wipes, because quite frankly, you are cramping my style.
    If you don’t work with me here, and comply with this request, I am going to put a transfer in to Craigslist.com. Or, I may even call the City Dump, because there are far worse things than death, and I think you’re sitting on the situation.
    I know things about human hygiene can get pretty damn sensitive, but I thought I would put a lever forward and bring this to your attention before this gets any worse. I hope to give many more years of service to you watching television, reading a book or the paper, and those long bouts of sleep you like so much.

    Yours Truly,

    Rockin’ Recliner

    P.S. I would appreciate a deep steam cleaning.
    P.P.S. I would also appreciate a squirt of Febreeze every now and then.

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