The chair sat and stared at the girl. It had never seen anything like her before.

She was small - probably the smallest person in the whole world.

The girl had danced over and was gazing with wide clear grey eyes, making the

chair slightly uncomfortable. It was used to being looked at - just part of being a

household item - but no one had ever peered like this, as if looking for more than

stuffing and springs. Eager to make a good first impression, the chair smiled politely.

“Christine? Christine! Come here!” The girl was roughly jerked away by a tall thin

woman with dark roots and a snub nose. “Don‟t wander away again!” They both

vanished from the furniture store.

The chair asked its neighbor, a wise antique writing desk, what sort of girl it was

who was so small and had such large eyes. The desk kindly explained that it was a

child, which would grow larger and become a person.

Fascinating. It wanted to see the child again.

An exceedingly nice chair it was, tailored with rich brown leather.

The chair was purchased and taken away, along with a young grandfather clock

and an overly excitable chest of drawers. Christine danced around them as they were

loaded into the car, singing nonsense songs to herself.

It was placed in a small room, by a door it had been unmercifully shoved through,

across from a chatty redwood table and a silent glamorous mirror, and next to a tall, thin

coat-stand. The chair was slightly afraid of the coat-stand, with its imperious height and

solitude, but was determined not to be prejudiced.

That night there were people. They hung their long coats on the coat-stand,

which accepted them graciously, and checked themselves in the mirror, which sweetly

complimented them, eliciting a few shy smiles. They passed through into the room

beyond, from whence people noises were issuing.

The mirror shuddered as a sound of breaking glass permeated the room and

someone began to cry.

Christine was forcibly led through the doorway by the woman and was sat down

on the chair, which made every attempt to soften the fall.

For the first time in its life, the chair felt a stab of worry. What was wrong?

“If you can‟t control yourself, you can just sit here until you decide to be a little

more grown up.” Christine‟s grey eyes scowled. The woman, in the act of strutting out in

her click-clacking heels, didn‟t notice, but the chair did, and was struck with admiration,

mixing with the anxiety to create a slightly sickening sensation.

“I hate her.”

The chair understood. It hated her too.

Over the next few days, the chair learned that it had been given a new name -

Timeout. This was thrilling. Christine spent time with it every day, sometimes crying and

raging, sometimes nonchalantly coloring in a little book. The chair realized that she was

an artistic genius, and also sometimes managed to color in the lines.

Time doesn‟t mean that much to a chair.