Descriptive Essay On The Rattan Chair

The Rattan Chair
Sharp sirens cut through the warm afternoon air like an icy blade as headlights of the ambulance lighted up the narrow alley. I had to squint to take a good glance at the figure being carried on the stretcher, it was my grandfather, who had fainted but have just woken up. Strangely enough, the elder remained the calmest of them all, as if nothing had happened. I stood beside the crowd gathering in front my grandparents’ 50-year-old stationery store. It had been a home for me in the past decade before I moved to college. With the day’s last ray of the sun wavering in the background, I heard the sound of the ambulance slowly fading away, with my grandfather on it for further examination. Returned back to the store, I walked past the varieties of pen and notebooks on the dusty shelves that has accompanied me through the years, at the end of the main aisle laid the counter and beside it laid a rattan chair, old but firm. It has been there ever since I could remember.

There was never a single dull lecture from my grandfather, only stories filled with bold ventures that were not written in the history textbooks. After supper, grandpa placed both of his hands steadily on the armrests of the good old rattan chair and sat down. The chair was comfortable but felt completely different from a sofa or a bed. Though it was covered by curved golden rattan vines, it was actually structured by wood. It was stiff and sturdy, allowing one to straighten up their backs when watching the store whole