Waiting in the Wingback

I climbed through the window above the garage and made myself comfortable in Gretel’s armchair. How long will she keep me waiting? I had to remind myself that I was doing the best I could, that this was just another day, and that she was going to keep me here, waiting in limbo. I eased back into the chair and put my leather boots up on the ledge of the windowsill. Sleep overtook me and I fell deep into darkness. She must have came in at some point in the night. When I woke up I had noticed that at the foot of the chair was a silver-serving tray. On it, was a plate of congealed gruel, a lock of hair wrapped in a purple ribbon and a note that read, ‘It’s your life, and you can do what you want.’