Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE.  (06/06/2025). No more than 250 words in length.

There is no clear memory of when the red chair first appeared. What was clear is that it’d been there for generations, even before the bustling village of Freiborgen was founded. Too tall for a human to mount without ropes, those who did manage the climb didn’t sit for long. They felt uncomfortable on both a physical and psychological level.

Years passed, in and out of memory. Buildings of stone and glass were constructed. Parks were built and improved upon. What was once a dirt footpath separating chair and wide sea, was transformed to concrete footing and curb, a strip of pavement installed that vehicles might drive by. Most passed by on foot; things with motors and wheels stalled out within 50 feet of the chair. Baby strollers and tricycles had no problems.

The chair was the heart of the village.

Freiborgen was remote, eerily protected from the outside world, but still able to benefit from its conveniences. Throughout time, when severe crises (economic hardship, pandemic, bitter unkindness) invaded and flooded over the village’s borders, the red chair stories changed.

Though specific memory of those times were unaccountably hazy, weavings, carvings, even the doodles on bar napkins and church hymnals swelled with the image of a man sitting on the red chair, arms held out in welcome and blessing. What remained—beyond these artifacts of folklore—was the feeling: a simmer of beneficence rolling from the chair to soothe the town, extending beyond its borders to the world beyond.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)