As I walk into the vestige of a classroom, tossing the door shut behind me, a single chair waits as if expecting me to stumble in. I’ve seen some like this before, I think to myself, but it’s never seen me.

I preemptively wonder if it wonders what knowledge I hold, as I wonder the same thing to it. And in an instant, my mind is transported and I embody somebody completely new.

What is a chair to an alien race? What meaning could it possibly hold as they dig through the rubble of a raucous society lost to silence? Its ornate lines that curve in on one another might dictate many rules from which its handlers are governed. Follow the lines as they bend in three dimensions, all meeting on the same rigid plane. The flat base that jettisons outward, slightly, sagging down toward a single center carries the weight of the large mast that slopes back as a taunt. Beneath, four prongs stab at the ground, recounting the pain of it all. The tall knees buckle to the point of stillness. The structure has its own presence as it waits in this empty room. So much energy in its staticity; it commands attention. Should it move at any point you would want to have your escape planned. Four legs are faster than three. How long has it been standing over the wreckage and rubble? Did it help to create it? What is an alien race to a chair?