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It’s a (slightly) wonderful life: a fictional story
Phoebe Watkinson, Birkenhead High School
This is the story of Noah Schofield who one day sat down on a black office chair that changed his life. You see, what you don't
realise, dear reader, is that Noah Schofield was not just another factory worker. He spent his days packing box after box of
syrup, getting them ready for their departure into the great big world. He believed it was a beautiful metaphor that exemplified
leaving your birth place, ready for a new adventure. It was not. The factory was hot and stuffy, the pay was appalling, and Noah
was probably in risk of obtaining a serious tropical illness due to the lack of health and safety. This was probably due to the fact
that his manager, Andrew, was going through some kind of existential crisis, but that's a completely different story involving a
cat and a delayed flight from Charles de Gaulle airport.
On a particular Friday afternoon, Noah had packed over 78 boxes and had given himself 23 paper cuts in the process. Noah
never looked forward to the weekends very much, unlike his colleagues. You see, Noah lived on a little peninsula called the
Wirral. It is situated in the North West and essentially looks like the thumb of England. It is conveniently overlooked by the rest
of the United Kingdom. Nearby is the city of Liverpool, the land of fake tan and nightclubs (or as the rest of the UK say - home of
the Beatles and football). It is here where most of Noah's colleagues will end up; however, they will be far too intoxicated to
care. Noah had never been one for alcohol. In fact, Noah had never been one for social events where alcohol might be present.
He had been brought up fully aware of the dangers of society, drinking being very high up on that list. He much preferred to
spend his evenings enriching his mind, or convincing himself of the beautiful metaphors that surrounded him. On this particular
Friday evening, however, Noah did not want to return home and spend the evening alone. His greatest fear was being alone. He
wished to go onto the roof of the factory. Do not rush to the conclusion that Noah wanted to throw himself off the building;
goodness me, no. He wished to observe the site around him, as he was running out of beautiful metaphors. So he asked
Andrew, and the conversation went something like this
N: Sir, I have a rather odd request .
A: Noah, can you not see I have been sobbing all afternoon? What the devil is it?
N: Well sir, I'd really like to take a chair up to the roof.
A: If you're going to wheel yourself off of it I might join you .
N: No sir, I'd really just like to, well, observe.
A: Whatever you wish Noah, just use the fire exit when you're done.
N: Thank you sir! Of course sir!
A: Please stop calling me ‘sir’. It reminds me of my responsibilities which I would much rather forget.
Noah beamed as his colleagues left, eager to start his observations. He watched as Andrew got into his car, sobbing again as he
drove away. He practically skipped to Andrew's office and took his chair. He began the journey up the narrow staircase, his
lanky frame struggling with the weight of the chair. He was fuelled by the excitement of finding new metaphors, new meaning
to life. Noah was under the impression that beauty could be found anywhere, and this was a unique and naïve perspective for
him to carry through life. Noah had endured a sheltered childhood. He had never been taught that the world can be a bad place,
so he lived in blissful ignorance, despite the ugliness that surrounded him.
Eight flights of stairs and what felt like a small cardiac arrest later, Noah placed the chair on the begrimed surface of the roof.
He looked around him, at the vast industrial area, taking in the pungent smell of sulphur to which he was accustomed. He sat
himself down, and began to observe. The sun was low in the sky, and he could see the shadows of his colleagues shuffle away
from the factory, their minds full of their bitter-sweet plans for the evening. He hoped that they would enjoy themselves as
much as they could.
*
Around three hours later, Noah was looking rather undignified, curled up in the foetal position, his glasses askew on his face,
and his mouth hanging open. Somehow, since he sat down, he had slowly drifted off and ended up on the floor. He woke with a
start, and immediately wondered where on earth he was. This certainly wasn't the Wirral. Well it might have been actually,
Noah actually didn't have the foggiest where he was. He brushed himself down and tried to look put together.
'You shouldn't fall asleep outside Noah'.
Noah spun around, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not. He was terribly confused by this which made him
unnecessarily grumpy.
'Look' he sighed 'I don't have time for this nonsense, I was terribly busy finding beautiful metaphors and I wish to continue
doing so in peace'
'But Noah, you have chosen me.' the voice persisted
There are many times in life when a human will have a horrific realisation that changes their view on the very foundations of
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their existence. For Noah, this was one of those moments. It slowly dawned on him that it was the chair speaking to him. This
had to be a dream, Noah wasn't prepared to believe that this nonsense was really happening.
'Look' said the chair, assertively 'I have plenty of chair things I could be doing, now can we please get on with this and let me
do my job,? Please take a seat'
'Oh, I'm so terribly sorry to inconvenience you. Yes, let's go, magical, talking chair. This isn't weird at all,' Noah cried, but for a
reason unknown to him (and to this day, myself), he listened to the chair and sat down.
It was just after they had passed the Taj Mahal and then the Eiffel Tower when it occurred to Noah that he had no idea where
he was. They were going at quite a cracking pace, and this was making him somewhat travel sick.
'Where the devil are we? I demand to know, you abominable contraption,' Noah seethed. He most certainly wasn't happy
about this arrangement.
'Look,' sighed the chair (I know it's difficult to imagine a chair talking). 'I'm taking you on a journey today Noah. Think of me as
your guardian angel, think of yourself as George Bailey. That was such a wonderful film, if you'll pardon the pun. You need to
be taught a lesson Noah, you need to stop searching for beautiful metaphors, and you need to realise that life is not always
great.'
'That's such a horrible thing to teach me. Aren't you supposed to be inspirational?' Noah pleaded.
'Just listen to me,' the chair continued.'You haven't left the Wirral, but you are currently seeing all the places where bad things
will happen to you. For example, Marie Sutcliffe will say ‘no’ when you ask her to marry you at the Eiffel Tower; at the Taj
Mahal you will lose your wallet. You will not travel again after this. You will spend the rest of your life in the Wirral, the little
thumb of England. You will fall in love with a girl who will make the rain seem beautiful and the world seem ugly. You will stop
searching for metaphors when you realise that she is the most beautiful of them all. You will be okay Noah. Now I know this
has been rather hurried but I have many more people to attend to who are currently in varying stages of existentialism. Also,
please call your mother, she worries about you.'
It was in that instant that Noah realised he was sitting back on the roof of the factory. He was in a state of amazement.
Although he still believed he was dreaming, he had been on a sort of spiritual journey which was certainly exciting. Everything
will be okay, he thought. He wouldn't be alone, he would be perfectly happy. Noah turned his back on the crescent moon,
knowing in his head that he could see it as a beautiful metaphor, but knowing in his heart that he didn't need to.
Image taken from The Portico Library Collection. Views of the architecture of the heavens: in
a series of letters to a lady by J. P. Nichol, Edinburgh: William Tait, 1837 C12771/Dh 5
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