The Chair
Fiction Dark Humor: Martin wakes to find himself strapped into an electric chair. He is very confused. He was certain he paid that HOA parking ticket so what was going on?
The Chair
When Martin woke up, he was strapped into an electric chair. His first thought was, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toto. His second thought was that he did not remember committing a crime worthy of being turned into a human nightlight. He blinked at the ceiling, the fluorescent panels, the cracks in the paint and a faint scorch mark on the floor a few feet away. That one raised some concerns.
“Hello?” he called out. His voice echoed in a way that suggested poor acoustics and he began to seriously doubt his life choices. “I’m sure I paid that HOA parking ticket and I was only in the no parking zone in front of the clubhouse for a minute. I didn’t even block anyone.”
A man in a suit stood behind a glass partition, holding a clipboard. He had the polite smile of someone about to charge you extra for guacamole.
“Good morning, Martin,” the man said through a speaker. “How are we feeling?”
“We is feeling confused,” Martin said. “We is also feeling strapped to a chair that historically has a very specific purpose.”
The man checked the clipboard. “You volunteered.”
Martin tugged at the leather restraints. Solid. Professional. Five stars for craftsmanship. “For what, a haircut? Because this feels like an overcorrection.”
“For treatment,” the man replied. “Experimental shock therapy. Phase Two.”
Martin paused.
“For depression?” he asked.
The man nodded. “You indicated persistent low mood, lack of motivation, inertia and fatigue, difficulty finding joy in small things.”
Martin stared at him. “I also indicated that I cry at dog food commercials. That does not mean I want to reenact prison documentaries.”
The suited man adjusted his tie. “The brochure was very clear.”
“Was it? Because I remember a smiling couple holding hands in a park.”
“Yes,” the man said. “That was the after photo.”
A second technician stepped in, adjusting the sponge on Martin’s head.
Martin squinted at the glass. “Wait. This is legal, right?”
“Very,” the suited man said. “You signed three waivers and initialed next to the phrase ‘temporary discomfort.’”
The lights flickered. A hum built in the room.
Martin swallowed. “Define temporary.”
“Brief,” the man said cheerfully.
The switch flipped.
It did not kill him. It did not enlighten him. It did, however, rearrange every muscle in his body into a shape he had never experienced before. The world went white. His jaw clenched so hard he briefly understood tectonic pressure.
Then it stopped.
Silence.
Martin sagged against the straps, eyes wide.
The suited man leaned toward the microphone. “How do we feel?”
Martin blinked several times. His hair stood in directions that defied physics.
“We still feel confused,” he croaked, “but noticeably awake.”
The technician began unbuckling the restraints.
“Any improvement in mood?” the man asked.
Martin considered this.
“I am no longer thinking about my unfinished laundry,” he said slowly. “I am thinking about how I would like to never do that again.”
The man scribbled something on the clipboard.
As Martin stumbled toward the exit, a receptionist handed him a small envelope.
“Thank you for participating in our study,” she said brightly.
Inside was a check for fifteen dollars. Martin stared at it. He looked back at the chair. Then at the check. Then back at the chair.
“Next time,” he muttered, stuffing the envelope into his pocket, “I’m taking a page out of Santa’s book and checking every word...twice. Even the ones in size six font.”
Martin stepped outside into the daylight, hair still standing on end. He still felt oddly energized but was absolutely certain of one thing. He would pay full price for therapy before volunteering for clearance bin science ever again.
By Heather Patton/Verdant Butterfly
Written for Mina Howell’s Micro Fiction March prompt: in 300 words or less tell the story of a man who wakes up finding himself bound to an electric chair.
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He would pay full price for therapy before volunteering for clearance bin science ever again. LOL 😍🤣😁🎉a fitting conclusion to science gone bad.
turned into a human nightlight....omheavens! So funny.