The Viking grunted and motioned Brad inside.
“Carly!” The man bellowed.
Brad ducked under the sonic boom. The Viking muttered something and pushed past Brad to get at whoever wasn’t answering him. He disappeared through a doorway at the end of the hall, leaving Brad alone in the living room.
Brad’s first impression was that there was only one piece of furniture in the room. It was certainly claiming the territory. All the other living room furniture was crowded against the opposite wall, huddled close together on the beige carpet. While under the front window, spreading out from wall to wall, and a good ways out into the room, was the ugliest couch Brad had ever seen. It had started out with a high back and pert arms, then, over the years, had bloated out in front of the TV. Its mallard head green velour had faded to a dull vomit colour. The back had slouched. The arms had sagged until it had finally given up and absorbed the stains deep into its foam. The couch was a hulking misery and Brad hated it instantly.
But he’d come this far already. The least he could do was try it out. He walked right up to the couch, turned round, and let himself fall backwards. The couch swallowed its victim. Brad sunk down, deeper and deeper into the velour, till he was sure his shoes were higher than his backside. A musty stink enveloped him. He nearly gagged when the last of his weight squeezed something sour out of the padding. This was so much worse than the bottomless velvet bucket seats of a 90’s cab. Brad groaned.
A door slammed. Two voices were screaming at each other in the kitchen. The Viking burst into the living room. He was livid.
“Then you deal with the &%^^$* couch!” He yelled back over his shoulder.
He was waving the half cruller over his head. His eyes squinted and fixed on Brad.
“What’re ya looking at?” He growled, and in one smooth major league move, wound up and lobbed the donut at Brad’s head.
Keep checking SavingCymbria for the next installment of “The Couch” – a serial short story