The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email

The Bed by Manav Chordia

Dear Mikey,

Hey. This is your bed, Mattrice, and I’ve been trying to have this conversation for a while, but I don’t seem to be able to so I’ve penned it out. Though I understand that you rarely spend time with me anymore, (and I for one have no problem with that) I do care about what’s going on with you. First, I request you to clean up behind your filthy ass and lay down.

I understand that there’s nothing in my power, but I reallydo wish for you to treat me better and provide me with a better lifestyle. We’ve been together for 96 months, 27 days and seven hours… but who’s counting right? [nervous giggle] I have been! For all this time, I’ve been there for you, and all I ask of you is to do the same for me.

For one, I have been wearing these ugly printed sheets for a considerably long time — four weeks now — and yes, I understand that you hate doing your laundry, but I do intend to remind you that there used to be a time where I was your best friend, your only friend at a point in time. I remember the first time you played video games, I remember the first time you actually finished a movie and cried, I also remember the times you jerked off. I was here through it all, buddy, I care about you.

With you basically living on me, there’s no way around it; you’ve been eating, drinking, littering working, smoking and f***ing. I understand that you’re going through a lot, but I’m just a mere bed, there’s only a limited amount of wear and tear I can handle. I need you to understand these things now.

Another concern of mine would be with the people who’ve slept on me with and without your presence! I do not appreciate it, at all. I was yours and you were meant to be mine, there’s nothing else to it. I’ve learned to live with a lot of problems you’ve created, but actually sleeping with twelve people over the span of four days is f***ing madness, please clean up your act. People carry so many microorganisms on their skin. They also shed their hair, toxins and dead skin cells all the time. I could be carrying these infections and creatures on me, and I don’t like this feeling.

My hydraulic cousin, who lives next door, has commented vague details about our Italian cousins being infected with bed bugs and such, so I wish to be guarded under these conditions. Otherwise, I might have to seek shelter elsewhere — or worse — discarded out in the streets.

Though I agreed to live in an open environment, I can’t take in your second-hand smoke for the fun of it. I can’t! I am thoroughly exhausted with the pressure you put under me. And on top of that, your innate need to choke me to superficial death is utter madness. There have been nights where you almost burn holes through my skin. It. Hurts.

I won’t leave you, not after what happened to Mom. I know you’re hurting, I’ve felt your tears puddle on my pillows every night. I warm myself up, cozy you up and wait for your slumber, little man. I make sure you feel better. I’m incapable, yet if there’s something I can do I shall.

I smell the substances you smoke. I don’t approve of them, but I will accept your method of grief. I hope you know it’s okay to not be okay. You’ve been hurting, but this is not the way. You aren’t in a good place now and I can’t say anything about it, but there’s always a better path. I’d look out for you. Just let me know.

Also, I uncovered that you might be looking for a new wooden bedframe specially made for me in rosewood or oak. They’re really expensive. I’d really appreciate it, but we can’t afford it — not right now. There’s no need for it. I know we live on a budget and you spent a lot of money procuring me. So, don’t upgrade your lifestyle, rather better it. You’re a big man now, act like it.

I hope we won’t be having any issues.

Until next time, farewell.

Your second bed,