The Table

The table seems to go on for miles, the endless number of chairs perfectly placed. They stand at attention, waiting for the order to move and do what they were made to do. The table is solid, a heavy and dark plank that seems to mock as it sits empty.


The once beautiful throne sits at the head, staring down at the blank canvas. It was placed in this prominent spot so all could see how many people filled the table. And they did fill it. So many people sat in those chairs and moved happiness around the surface.


Then they started going elsewhere. Little by little the chairs stopped moving, for they had found a table they liked better. It wasn’t as dark or heavy, and the chairs more welcoming. And then one day, they were no more. The throne sat alone, trying to bring them back. I’ll move the table to them! I’ll make it lighter, more joyful! But they didn’t listen.


It’s been empty for many years, growing cold and isolated. It no longer feels welcoming, as if the life that had once pulsed through its grooves faded away. A steady trickle of water runs down the center, wearing a hole in the heart of it. It’s slowly dying, losing hope that it will ever see it filled again.