Bob shifts his weight, trying to wake his slumbering muscles. The chair moves with him. The metal feet skid across the tile floor, creating a jarring screech. The other teachers glare, some with mouths open. Voices blur together.
He answers with a yelp. The dull sensation sharpens as jagged bits of plastic snap off and push through cotton and into the meat of his upper thighs. The chair, it seems, has claws. As Bob stands, the chair comes too. He stumbles a few awkward, chair-stuck-to-butt steps and collides with the table. The others mumble as they hurriedly skirt around Bob and out the door. Blood trickles down the back of his thighs, staining his calf-high athletic socks. Tears squeak from the corners of his eyes.
"Pull..." he begs, slumping to the floor, but the room is empty.
Empty except for the other chairs, all of them now awake and snapping their sharp plastic teeth as they march on the downed man.
Read on: "A World in Rubber, Soft and Malleable" is up at A Fly in Amber. I'd love it if you'd stop by, comment and rate. I might even feature your name in a future Friday Flash.