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The Captain's Chair

The rocking chair moved with a gentle roll, swayed slightly to the sides with each back and forth motion. When he closed his eyes and listened to the creak of the aged wood he could pretend he was back on deck. Especially in summer, when the nurses positioned him by the window so he could stare out at the sea, feel the sun hot on his face, taste the salt on the breeze.

He liked it here. There were no children. It was perfect. Almost.

His hook was wearing a groove in the arm of the chair where he scraped it every time he heard that infernal clock. If he could do something about that then he could enjoy his life in peace. For now, though, it was there, a constant reminder.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Story by:

Chris Bissette

submitted at 6:48pm

22 May 2011

Chris Bissette's web:

www.chrisbissette.com