The self righteous Armchair

One can get too full of himself if is too popular

Once and only once in time, there lived a rich man. He was independent and lived alone in his Mansion. So every night he would sit down in his favorite armchair, the only one in factual. He would sit near the lit fire place and read something.  

Now, on this specific night, our attention is brought to an unusual situation. Everything was left in its place and the fire with its hot yellow flames was extinguished. The owner of the house left for his bedroom to have a good nights sleep.

But not everyone was asleep or in polite manner, not quiet.

   “Oh, my, I’m so pleased to live my life this way. I’ve been given the distinguished respect and honor by my master and his servants. Women and men of great prominence have sat on me. And when they leave, I’m rewarded by their pleasant warmth and scents,” Blabbered the self righteous armchair.

          “It’s true that you are more honored than I but I to have my own glory, even though I am a footstool.”

       “But no,” begun the armchair. “No one has experienced my great and unique glory. You be nothing more than a footstool. No one will ever recognize you.”

    The footstool kept quiet and felt guilty for being itself.

All was silent but for a moment. The armchair was armed with painful, heart piercing words. He was a big bully. 

          Finally, some one in the midst of the silence spoke up. It was the jar and this is what she said.

          “Just because prominent people sat on you doesn’t mean more significant than others. You are not the only armchair in existence. There plenty of others just like you.”

       “Preposterous! Being compared to other armchairs? What audacity! I have more dignity, more class. And you… you are nothing to me. When tampered with, you break into pieces. How pathetic you are.”

          “You are so puffed, arrogant, all high and mighty. What good will it do for me talking you as if you’ll change?

          The armchair laughed at his victory while the jar ignored him. From then no other object dared to talk to him about his arrogance and inconsideration for others. But a ray of hope behold. The moon had seen everything in that room and though far away could not help feel sorry the ‘other’ objects. He was fizzed with anger and suddenly confronted the self-righteous armchair.

          “YOU WICKED, INSENSITIVE ARMCHAIR!” cried he. You who are so pompous, who looks down others and is inconsiderate; has no idea of suffering or humbleness. I’ll bring you down. Have you been burned to ash, chopped into pieces or thrown into the cold heartless world? No one lives forever including you. Think about it.”

          The armchair was certainly frightened by the prospects of ‘combustion’ or abandonment. He was also afraid of the end his glory. And he only had one life.

          “Well I do suppose… I’ve been a cheek and not… nice. An apology is…um…not such a bad idea, isn’t it? I mean I’m not going to change in one night you.”

          “It’s a start. It will take time but…I’d say you’re on the right track.”

    The next day, the owner of the house sat in his arm-chair to read a newspaper.

          “I wonder…if it’s just me or…the armchair feels soft, today,” he said to himself. “Oh, well.”