Scriven to Madness

A desk sat at the corner of the tiny room, meaning it laid claim to half of one wall, and faced the rising sun each morning through the window beside it. It was an interesting piece of furniture: half writing surface and half shelf space, with drawers lower down and a handy bulb socket stuck to the underside of the first shelf row, above the writing implement. The bulb that came with it upon its purchase was badly burnt out; a clear, incandescent one whose model the eventual owner didn't care to take note of upon replacement (she sheepishly estimated the socket size after running to London Drugs instead).


It was a handy desk. Cheap-looking, yes, considering the faux grain overlay and unstylish minimalist cuts. The drawers had no catch to them and the unsuspecting file-hunter will pull a whole one out to tragically and inevitably crush their toes, which won’t be the end of their woes, because afterwards comes the grumbling and shuffling of papers, stuffing them back into folders, and folders into drawers, and drawers into drawer-slots. 


One upside to a desk that’s seen its fair share of Craigslist postings and wistful goodbyes driving off atop the back of a pickup truck is that with its expendability comes personality, and the enabling of its achieving one. In the first light of its present dwelling, the desk had no scars to bear—at least not of the intended kind—and was merely scratched and dented in places where other desks were not stranger to. This was quickly amended by the replacement of the burnt bulb (the desk’s countenance visibly brightened, hardy har, however desks might have countenances at all) and the subsequent hammering of gold thumb tacks at seemingly random nooks and seams of its body (the desk may have felt severely betrayed then). Whoever pulled this heinous act then proceeded to string some yarn along tacks stuck beside drawers to limit their opening, and then ran off to obtain something or other. The remaining random tacks’ positions were quickly explained when a short thread of Christmas lights was draped and wired to each, and small, colourful paper lanterns were popped onto each light. The desk sat unassuming until the ceiling light was disabled, and the sound of lanterns shuffling and brushes of plastic on carpet preceded the abrupt and quiet glow of different colours at regular intervals, framing the desk and almost making it feel beautiful. Oh yes, it was a desk of character, not much more now than when it was first methodically assembled, but it held and held up many things, and sat at the corner of the room like it truly belonged there. Books, laptop, vase, lights, and all.