Death and The Comfortable Couch

When her gaze fell upon the flushed sofa for the second time that century, it knew. That she drew a detached trendil of opulence at seeing what was once a blooming, cherry red divan dominating a space for neighbors to be jealous of, children eased of figmental nightmares, the elderly soothed with a warmth of familiarity. She was able to respect its symbolism of another time, another place. Where she herself was a young thing of creation. Unaware of the eternal unrest that was to be that was to be her fate. To be woken and appointed at one end of the universe. The gloriously darker end.