The White Chair
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2026 by Mat Twassel
Flash Story: Emma and Daniel come upon a white chair overlooking a hearty stream. Might this be an opportunity for steamy outdoor sex? Illustrated.
Emma spotted the white chair first—just a flash of pale shape through the trees as the road curved toward the clearing. Daniel noticed her slow, curious tilt of the head and followed her gaze. The chair sat alone at the edge of the vantage point, angled slightly toward the creek below as if someone had placed it there with intention, then wandered off and never returned.
They stepped into the clearing. The forest hush pressed close on one side; on the other, Old Mill Creek tumbled over stones, its voice rising and falling.
Emma crossed her arms, amused. “It looks like it’s waiting for us.”
Daniel laughed softly. “It also looks like it’s been waiting for a long time.”
Up close, the chair was weathered—paint peeling, wood softened by years of rain and sun. It had a kind of stubborn dignity, still standing, still offering a place to rest.
Emma hovered a hand above the seat. “Do you think it’ll hold?”
“Probably,” Daniel said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. He nudged one of the legs with his foot. It didn’t wobble. “It’s sturdier than it looks.”
Emma considered the creek, the breeze, the quiet. “It would be nice to sit for a minute.”
Daniel considered Emma, the way her shoulders relaxed in this place. “You sit. I’ll stand guard in case it collapses dramatically.”
She rolled her eyes, but she eased herself down. The chair creaked—a long, theatrical groan—but held. Emma let out a delighted breath. “It’s perfect.”
Daniel leaned beside her, hands in his pockets. “You always trust the world more than I do.”
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