Patio

The patio glistened with morning dew. Slim fingers of sunlight reached through the pine shaded back yard and splayed across the weather sealant like spider webs on an abandoned exer-cycle. A coral-breasted nuthatch twittered its morning soliloquy before dropping a graceful string of pearly white excrement across the sky blue Jacuzzi cover.

“Ah, morning.” said the patio table (who liked to think of her self as PT), reveling in her roundness skewered with an adorning umbrella which sheltered its well worn surface from sun and bird-poo alike. “I am queen of the pay-she-oh” she breathed. She pronounced patio as if it rhymed with ratio, which in her wooden mind it should.

The sliding door opened to expel a slipper footed User. It was one of the older ones who held a canister of steaming liquid. PT noted the coaster with approval. Just because she was an outdoor-seater was no reason to risk her finish. With the pay-she-oh door open and the French door to the kitchenette spread apart she could see into the living room. Pt felt her bolts tighten with anger.

There it was. That stuck up, elitist, plastic covered hussy; Couch. PT resented Couch with every splinter of her being; with its prissy woven materials and its plastic cover. What were the Users protecting her from? Rump dent?

PT knew that indoor furniture or softies as they liked to call them were weak and vulnerable, but this was an outrage. They never even Used her!

Deck chair once suggested that Couch might feel a prisoner, locked up in the tower, unUsed and unloved, but PT knew better. Couch was smug and she deserved body fluid stains and termites. Maybe a sleeping smoker - yeah, that would be what she deserved. Smug, bitch.

Then she nearly lost her umbrella. They had finally done it! The Users had removed her plastic. Oh, glorious day! That snob was garage food inside a year. PT settled her wood and turned her attention back to the glorious morning sun. Ahh…

-Brihac