The bench overlooking the old, overgrown quarry was still slick with morning dew, smattered with fresh-fallen leaves and aching from years of rain-battered use.
On it were two people, one old, one young. The old one, a tall, thin man in an overcoat twenty years out of date, wished his unintended companion would leave, please and thank you. He had been coming to the quarry to sit ever since he had moved to the area, one foggy, far-off day decades prior. Now he struggled to make the hike up on a good day, and he feared that he may not get many more chances.
The younger bench-sitter was initially a bit worried he might disturb the old man as he came around the bend and up the hill to where the bench kept its silent watch at its apex. Now he was beginning to think his suspicions were correct, as he tried very hard to creep over to the farthest end. Attempts at eye contact, and perhaps a conversation, were met with annoyed ignorance.
Leaves rustled, fell, and came to rest on the ground surrounding the bench. Early autumn wind blew through the trees, and time seemed to stop, as if nature herself was contemplating the absurdity of the silent melodrama playing out on the bench.
It was as if the men themselves, and the bench too, had become a part of the dun quarry walls they overlooked.
At last, after several empty seconds had passed, the young man took out a careworn copy of Walden from a ragged, stitched up hiking bag. As he flipped to where his place was marked, the old man slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder.
And as they let their guards down and began to talk, the earth opened herself up once more, to bask in the joys of autumn wind, fallen leaves, and new friendships.
hypergx t1_jdladcy wrote
Reply to [WP] Just two people sitting on a park bench. No gods or monsters or spies or supernatural elements -- just two people sitting. by IAmTotallyNotSatan
The bench overlooking the old, overgrown quarry was still slick with morning dew, smattered with fresh-fallen leaves and aching from years of rain-battered use.
On it were two people, one old, one young. The old one, a tall, thin man in an overcoat twenty years out of date, wished his unintended companion would leave, please and thank you. He had been coming to the quarry to sit ever since he had moved to the area, one foggy, far-off day decades prior. Now he struggled to make the hike up on a good day, and he feared that he may not get many more chances.
The younger bench-sitter was initially a bit worried he might disturb the old man as he came around the bend and up the hill to where the bench kept its silent watch at its apex. Now he was beginning to think his suspicions were correct, as he tried very hard to creep over to the farthest end. Attempts at eye contact, and perhaps a conversation, were met with annoyed ignorance.
Leaves rustled, fell, and came to rest on the ground surrounding the bench. Early autumn wind blew through the trees, and time seemed to stop, as if nature herself was contemplating the absurdity of the silent melodrama playing out on the bench.
It was as if the men themselves, and the bench too, had become a part of the dun quarry walls they overlooked.
At last, after several empty seconds had passed, the young man took out a careworn copy of Walden from a ragged, stitched up hiking bag. As he flipped to where his place was marked, the old man slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder.
And as they let their guards down and began to talk, the earth opened herself up once more, to bask in the joys of autumn wind, fallen leaves, and new friendships.