The blue chair appeared at the end of summer, at the place where the trail broke off and became sand. Almost hidden in an island of trees. A few days later, a hole in the sand with blackened logs laid across it. A backpack, a pair of pants. Scattered bullet shell casings. Tire tracks. A smashed microwave. I got into the habit of checking on the chair, the backpack, the pants, the microwave. I got into the habit of scanning the shadows. Of counting shell casings. Sometimes the blue chair would face forward. Sometimes not. I decided I’d better stop checking.
The Blue Chair
By Lori Lamothe
Nicki Nance says
My favorite part of this story is that it leaves so much to my imagination.
Amanda Le Rougetel says
Oh wow. What a story…it leads my mind to so many possibilities…
?? brilliant 101 words! Well done!
richard bishop says
Now you’ve got me wondering
Paul Scott Wood says
Yes, this story is a real poser……but well written.