The Madd Hatter
Five years ago, I sat in a small two story building in London. The rain fell hard on the cobblestone street, and pitter pattered on the windows of my shop and home. The smell of glue and leather permeated the air with an underlying scent of smoke as the fireplace roared.
My chair, an odd thing, something I have never seen anything like before. Its legs sprouted feathers, then slowly turned to scales and ended in the talons of a bird. But, a bird that no longer walks this world. Old worn ash made up the high back. It bore many designs, such as chess pieces, large mushrooms, flowers with faces. On top sat a fat, striped cat with a grin literally from ear to ear, and big gleaming eyes. But, dead center, was a large dragon. Its scales almost seemed to glisten and move in the swirling fire light. The armrests ended in front, each with a face, each so alike I couldn’t tell if they were twins or the same person. Finally, both seat and back were cushioned in red velvet, in the shape, of a heart.