“Well fuck me, then,” she says to the room at large. There’s no one there to hear her words, but that’s long since ceased being a problem she concerned herself with—-the sound of her own voice soothes her. She gets up from the floor, and looks down at the wreckage of the chair she’d intended to park her ass in for a while. The minute it had tried to support her weight, it collapsed. The chair was only a year old, and she was far from large, but the chair was still broken into pieces.
“Guess I should’ve been prepared for that when I saw you spitting out screws a few days ago,” she says to broken chair on the floor. She glances over at the screw on the end table, the screw she’d been intending to put back in place, but forgotten about. Useless now, she thought, and like a cat she swatted the single screw into the pile of broken chair pieces where it belonged.
She went over to the wall, pressed her back against it, and slid down into a sitting position. If this wall falls out from behind me, we’re all screwed, she thinks and laughs. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer person,” she says aloud, laughing and opens her book. She’s still musing about the walls falling down around her as she settles into her favorite book, and eventually she forgets everything around her. The broken chair will still be there when she comes back, but for now it’s ceased to exist, and that is all well and good—-that is as it should be. Sometimes chairs break. Sometimes things fall apart. Imagination, however, that never busts.