8thdayfiction

…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

Desky

Carol looked at the desk as it sat in the back of the box truck. It broke her heart to get rid of it, but it was time. After years of use and hauling it from apartment to house to house to apartment to house, the desk was worn out beyond repair. The one broken leg kept re-breaking no matter how many times and how carefully it was re-attached, and the bottom left-hand drawer no longer opened without at least a fifteen minute struggle.

So Carol had found a new desk. Well, new to her. It was a vintage piece. Solid oak, still in terrific condition. Actually, a much nicer desk than the one she was getting rid of; she was definitely trading up.

But still. The old desk had sentimental value, and Carol almost felt like she was betraying it by sending it to auction in the hopes that maybe someone would pay a few bucks for it, someone who would have the skill to permanently fix the broken leg and warped drawer.

That was her hope, anyway. She didn’t want to think of the alternatives: That it would end up on the curb, in a landfill, or chopped up and–she couldn’t even finish that last thought. It was crazy, she knew, but she felt like she was selling out an old friend for some pocket change.

She jumped into the truck to steal one last moment with the desk. The guys would have her new desk in place and be back outside and ready to leave any minute now.

Carol patted the desk’s top. “I’m so sorry to see you go, Desky. You were a great desk, and I’ll always remember you.”

“Thanks, Carol. And enjoy the new desk–it looks like a nice one. No hard feelings, OK?”

Such kind words, which made Carol feel even worse. The new desk was nice, but deep down she knew it was no Desky. For one thing, the new desk couldn’t talk, and for another thing, even if it could, there’s no way it would be as kind and understanding as Desky.

She jumped off the back of the truck and ran into the house, wiping away a tear. She passed by the movers as they were exiting, but simply gave them a wave without saying anything. She had already paid them, she didn’t feel like talking, and she just wanted to be alone for a little bit.

Advertisements

Single Post Navigation

6 thoughts on “Desky

  1. Allison on said:

    I see some Jack Handey influence here. Love it!!

  2. Love the twist that the desk can talk (AND WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU GET RID OF A FRIENDLY TALKING DESK?) I know she will regret it… at first I thought this simply a story branching from the purging we’ve been doing of lots and lots of furniture, books, and stuff. Now, this is a great story to remind me of why I shouldn’t regret getting rid of my things, because it’s not like they talked or anything! Thank you for encouraging me in our minimizing, although I’m sure that was not the aim of your writing this time. And by the way, I do have many great memories from your desk we got rid of–I wrote a letter at it every day to my sister the whole time she was in college; I wrote grad school papers there. I loved storing my stationary in its drawers. But even though it was in much better condition than the desk in the above story, the rat’s nest in the top drawer when we got it out of storage (and the two rats that we saw hopping out of it!) were definitely deal-breakers for me–and geez, the desk couldn’t even talk!

    • I would assume that the novelty of a talking desk would wear off quickly…especially if it only talked to you so that when you tried to show people your talking desk it just sat there, and they’d think you were crazy.

      • Yeah, I’m not sure that I would let anyone outside the family know if I had a talking desk, though. I think I would want the desk to be my own special magical friend (like from a children’s storybook), not some oddity that everyone in the country would want to stop by and see. Just think, you’ld always have a pal around, even if you were the only person in the house!

      • Yeah, I guess you’re never alone if you have a Desky. Although that actually reads kind of creepy. I’m not sure I’d want to be never alone because there’s a weird talking desk in my house…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: