[ WP ] Write the thoughts and experiences of everyday objects used by humans as if they were conscious but could not communicate , only watch and be used .

Her first touch had been of serrated tools and sand paper. Her first smell was the tang of the polish caressed into the grain of her legs, her rockers, and the curve of her back. Her first sound had been the crackling of the fire she was put beside. A nice sound, but not her favorite. The man who had built her had long turned to dust, feeding future generations of her brothers and sisters. She had seen five generations in the same family. Ten children had been lulled to sleep in both their mothers ’ and her arms. 
 
 That tenth child stood before her now, sharp faced with a rounded belly. “ Oh, I don ’ t know. It could be worth something. It ’ s almost 200 years old. My great-grandfather- or was it my great-great? - made it himself. ” 
 
 The man with his arm around the woman's waist snorted. “ They ’ re a dime a dozen. Everybody ’ s great something made them. Unless he was Ethan Allen it ’ s not worth a damn thing. Look at the back of the rocker leg. It looks like rats chewed on it. ” 
 
 “ My mom said it was a puppy, ” the woman corrected. She sighed and ran her hand down one of the chair ’ s spindles. It wriggled in her palm. “ I guess it is kind of rickety. And it really just doesn ’ t ‘ go ’, does it? ” 
 
 “ We ’ ll go get a nice big over-stuffed lounger tomorrow. You'll be able to sink into it, kick your feet up and fall asleep with Little Booger on your chest. ” 
 
 The chair felt the man ’ s strong hands encircle her arms and she was carried away from the woman and the room where she had spent so many years. She felt vertigo at the strange movement. He dropped her against the curb. A stiff wind was blowing in salty from the east. If she could have shivered, she would have. When the sun rose red and warming a dim memory older than herself bubbled up. Her stretching branches towards the sky so her leaves could catch every ray. But that hadn ’ t been her, had it? It must have just been a dream. 
 
 Her doom was rumbling towards her. She thought of the marmalade cat who had loved playing the game of “ catch the tail ” with her, flicking it in and out from under her rocker. She thought of the old woman who had sat alone warming her bones for years after her husband and children were gone. The truck was right beside her now, and she heard it gnashing and chewing. When the man in the black uniform grabbed her and yanked her up, all she could do was brace herself for the end. 
 
 “ Wait, stop. Whatchya got there? ” said a voice from around the front of the truck. “ Oh my, look at that. Hand carved. Solid walnut. The Lord does provide. ” New hands, rough and golden brown took her and placed her gently in the cab. 
 Later that night she found herself once again embraced by a fine-grained paper. The hands that had saved her were expert hands; they tightened, smoothed, and salved every inch of her. When he was done he set her in a darkened room. The sun rose and set and she wondered if he was ever coming back. When evening came on the third day, the door opened and a shaft of light fell across her. Silhouetted in the doorway was a slip of a girl clutching a round of blanket to her chest. “ Oh, Abuelo, it ’ s beautiful, ” the girl breathed as she crossed the room towards the chair. 
 
 That ’ s when the old rocker heard it- her favorite sound. The soft murmuring cries of a brand new life. 
 
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 This noob would welcome some CC. 

