Page Long Stories #1: The Couch

The couch cushion folded around his butt comfortably, the worn fabric stretching to accommodate his familiar form. Sweat began to seep through the holes in his jeans, a moist lubrication to help his cheeks to slide into the creases in the foam. His back slowly relaxed, slumping down until his shoulders hunched up in a shrug.

Every night he sank down onto the broken down old thing, every night easier than the last. A few weeks ago he’d stood staring for a few moments before each retreat to the soft upholstery, glancing furtively toward the window; now he just poured the couch a drink along with his own and collapsed. And somehow, though the couch never moved, both drinks would be gone before unconsciousness overtook him.

That was probably an hour or more off yet, however. He took a listless sip of single malt, staring at the spot on the carpet where the TV stand used to be. They’d taken that, along with the TV, a week ago…or maybe more. No great loss, in any case. Nothing but static.

The whiskey burned pleasantly in his mouth, and he blinked slowly. The bottle stood on the floor next to the couch, freshly opened. It had probably been expensive. He threw the rest of his glass back and swallowed it quickly.

Yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, the wall in front of the couch had occupied his attention where the TV had before. Floral wallpaper straight out of the ‘70s, yellow stains that seemed to form odd shapes like clouds. After the couch finished its drink, they sometimes even moved.

They were gone now, of course. He had locked the front door back at the start of all this. Moved the refrigerator in front of it, too. Hauled it over, pushed it into place, stepped back with hands on hips and given his work a nod before moving on to boarding the windows. How long ago had that been? It didn’t matter. He took a sip of the couch’s drink.

The view was better now, of course. Where the wall had been, he could see all the way down the hill his house stood on to the remains of the city. He could watch the sun set all the way below the horizon now that the Citi Bank tower was gone. Well, not gone in the strictest sense – people had taken up residence in the few lower floors that remained. His TV stand was probably in one of them. The TV, too, if it hadn’t been too damaged when they broke through the wall.

He raised the glass to his lips to find it empty, and let it fall from his hand to bounce off his thigh onto the floor. The bottle was almost empty now, oddly. Couch must have been thirsty this evening. He settled himself further into the cushion, and closed his eyes.