sign up or log in for additional features. (It's free!)
They they sat. She was looking into his eyes, and trying to be strong for him. I don’t know how long they had been sitting there, but it looked like a while. I squatted down to feed the ducks in front of them. I overhead a conversation that brought me to tears.
She asked him in a whisper filled with love, “How much longer?” He replied that he didn’t know, it could be a week, or six months.
By Gail on 01.15.2012
The cool stone under your tracing fingers leaves invisible scratches in the skin, the intricate workings distracting you from what you came here for. The too sweet smell of roses stuck in your nose makes your eyes water. You’re catching sunbeams in your eyes, scraping your nails against lifeless rock under your palm, leaving red streaks in their wake. A heavy reminder left on your finger as you glare at the flowers that sway to the sound of your grief. If you stand to leave, you admit you are no longer welcome if he is no longer here. No longer welcome in his garden if you admit he’s gone.
By Purple Coins URL on 01.15.2012
She sat on a bench in the park in crisp, deep Autumn, watching leaves dribble slowly from dark wood, littering the soft earth around her. Some leaves were crusted red and gold, curled up like babies bracing the fall, while others seemed carefree and chose one colour and not the other, swirling slow spirals like a ballerina on descent.
By JAWN. on 01.15.2012
I was on the bench again. As always. Never ever picked and never ever considered. This basically summed up my teens as a teenage boy…I wouldn’t have minded but I was actually quite good at some sports…just no one knew it.
By zebra URL on 01.15.2012
I sat on the bench in the park, staring across the way. Pigeons littered the ground in front of me. People littered the grass beyond. I sighed. Bored. What can I do. It was a seemingly nice day, but it looked like rain. And just when I thought this, the first drop came down. I thought I should seek shelter, but decided better of it. Rain was a beautiful thing.
By Danielle on 01.15.2012
A bench, a bench, another bench! The man fell through the park counting things. He screamed a little as he spun around and there before him was another bench. These benches have to go. He would burn them all.
By X on 01.15.2012
There was something about waiting, the clear air brushed against my cheek, I knew there had to be something I was waiting for. A tall man with a lazy eye sidled up and sat heavilly next to me. A dank, urine-sharp scent hung around him.
Bench is something you sit on. It is commonly found in parks and schools. In schools, children sit on the benches to study. In parks, the morning walkers sit and relax on them.
By Vipin Arora URL on 01.15.2012
It was a bench on the side of a jogging track. It held the sweat of a few generations of obese diabetics who were desperately trying to lose weight, only to go back and eat a few tubs of bacon later that day. She was just a little girl then. Her dad used to take her to the jogging track beside the reservoir and put her down on the bench. They used to sit down at 7.55am everyday and take in the cold air beating against their skin, the long shadows of a rising sun and the golden hue that was increasingly warm. He taught her about the golden hour of photography. That one hour twice a day when everything became terrifyingly beautiful. At 7.55am in the morning, when everything and everyone, even the homeless grinning outside makeshift bodegas, looked fresh and happy to be alive. The second was at 6.55pm at night, when everything looked tired and worn and the beauty of life seemed so beaten and worn that it made everything that much more hauntingly pretty. When she was a kid, she was like the world at 7.55am, on that park bench. Beautiful, innocent, full of life, ready to become selfish, ashamed and broken by the proceedings of life. Now she was the world at 6.55pm, on that park bench full of happy memories, while living a bitter life. She was broken by the sadness of the world, and she knew it. And all the while, the joggers ran by, another generation of obese diabetics died and nothing really changed in a world that we think as different.
By FreddieMercurySpawn. on 01.15.2012
A bench has a special character. It need legs, but it is other’s legs also.
By tonwachara URL on 01.15.2012
“Fifty!” Terry cried with a heave of breath.
Slowly, and as obviously as he could, he lowered the barbell gently, hoping to get the attention of the slender, lycra-clad girls at the other side of the gym. Yeah, he thought. They’ve gotta be impressed by this.
Day four at the gym, pressing weights, no, pumping iron. Yes, he had to remember his lingo now. No point in sounding like an amateur. Bench presses were the ultimate exercise he had been told. Nothing impresses the chicks more than presses.
He had high hopes. In six months, he would be the next Arnold, according to the new fitness regime he’d just ordered from the internet. And he’d have washboard abs in just a fortnight. Six easy steps, it said. Though apparently it required he purchase some more add-on things to complete his workout ‘plan’. He’d yet to wade through the rest of the promotion materials before he got to the exercises themselves.
For a moment, he flexed his muscles while sat on the bench, admiring them, while recovering from his exertions. He hoped this flexing, just him being natural, of course, would catch the eyes of those same girls at the other side of the gym.
No, no luck he thought. He prepared to stand up, but as he did so, he saw one of the girls point in his direction, and two of them started heading towards him.
“Oh my God”, he thought, “this is it. The muscles are finally doing their job”. And he tensed and flexed a little more, again, trying to look natural while he was doing so. It was something he hadn’t quite perfected, and instead took on the visage of someone on the toilet trying to deal with too much food from the night before. Still, the the girls like a vascular man, he was told.
The thinnest of the two girls approached first. “Are you finished on this bench, He-Man?” she asked.
“Er, yeah” Terry replied, fumbling a little for a smart-ass reply. “Yes!” he repeated, this time trying to sound a little more gruff. The girls like a gruff voice, he was told. Gives him an air of authority. Even if he was only nineteen.
Still, he was caught a little off-guard by the moniker she had given him. Was it a compliment? He couldn’t quite work it out.
“Yep, all yours,” he continued, “if you can lift it off there.” With a broad smirk, he stood up to head towards the next bench, leaving a wet patch of sweat on the bench padding as a mark of his territory.
“We can only try” replied the second girl, trying to cover a smile.
Terry sat down at the next machine, preparing himself mentally for some more shock to his muscles.
Before him, his dreams, his ideals, and hopes, all fell away as he watched the first girl pick up the barbell. With one hand. “Hold this, would you, Julie?”. Julie obliged.
Terry sat in an awkward, stunned silence, feeling as if the entire gym was watching this mockery take place.
Julie placed the bar back on its supports, and it was only at this point, that Terry had realised his error. He had been lifting a bar with no weights on it. He thought it was heavy enough on his own. For the last four days, he had been showing off to the rest of the gym, that he was able of knocking out fifty reps of an unweighted bar. Oh, the shame. His face reddened.
The first girl kept eye contact with him as she began adding weights to the bar, four, five, six enormous discs. She lay on the bench and started lifting. Terry quickly made a few token pushes on the machine at which he was sat, and clamly, but with a distinct air of hurrying out, made for the exit.
As he reached the gym door, he heard a chorus shout “fifty!” followed by a fit of giggles from the two girls.
By Gordsthoughts URL on 01.15.2012
My weekly meeting with the boss was at 2:00. Things have been going great, although the amount of work coming in has steadily decreased. We sat down and he immediately told me he was putting me on the bench. Full pay, but I would be “learning”, not “working” for a while. No end date. Was this good news, or bad news?
By Dayle URL on 01.15.2012
I was sitting on a park bench one day. I drifted away. I was imagining all of the endless locations where this bench could possibly be located. Suddenly, I was sitting on this same bench in Rome,Italy. I sat there, people watching and enjoying sounds. I closed my eyes and took in the scents in the air. I opened them and I was on Venice beach. Still sitting upon my bench. It was magical. I heard someone call my name. I looked to the left to see who might know me on Venice beach, and I was suddenly in Nice, France. Sitting upon my bench outside of a popular restaurant, a delicious cup of Joe in my hand.
By Nikki on 01.15.2012
For some other girl to come and take my spot.
For some other girl to wait as patiently as I to enter the arena.
I’m leaving here.
I’m tired of waiting.
My patience is ready to wait for something else, somewhere else.
By ahamoments URL on 01.15.2012
The two friends shared a bench one last time. They had been meeting at this bench for lunch for years, since 1988 to be exact, and it was astonishing to imagine they would never meet there again after today.
By Cheri URL on 01.15.2012
i really like benches. wooden ones. metal ones. ones that don’t keep homeless people off. they don’t have to be clean, but no gum or trash. plants around them are nice. shade sometimes, sun other times. big enough for two. don’t hurt my back.
By Ben on 01.15.2012
She sat on the bench, leaning her head back against the rough wood. She felt alone, the music in her ears not quite drowning out the silence all around her. Her eyes closed, she didn’t notice the young man who sat next to her. He sat, and he looked at her, and he waited. And waited. And then he walked away.
By Jenna on 01.15.2012
i sat on the bench waiting for the rain to come. Why was I sitting there. I couldn’t remember but i knew i was waiting for the rain. Somehow that would help. Would i remember when the rain came.
By Jojo URL on 01.15.2012
we sit side by side
on the bench where you
first told me
that you liked my jumper
my ugly, ugly jumper
By Iffath URL on 01.15.2012
He sat on the bench and looked away from her while she busied herself with her own life. It was no punishment for him to sit and look around and wait for her to stop and find him, still sitting and watching and waiting.
By nannan URL on 01.15.2012
I could see us sitting on a bench under a crab apple tree now just blooming with pink-white powdery flowers. Little raindrop petals fall in ethereal slow-motion showers from the branches. Maybe when we’re older. And maybe when you decide to stay.
By mere URL on 01.15.2012
I sit on the park bench, slowly unwrapping my sandwich and marveling at the perfect azure of the sky, the puffy white clouds, the bright green of the grass, the warmth, troubled only by the small cool breezes- the only reminder that winter used to be here.
A shadow falls over me and I look up. A tall, cute guy stands over me, “Mind if I sit there?”
I smile, “Nope.”
By Jocelyn URL on 01.15.2012
I sat down with a sigh. a few minutes into my daydreaming, I noticed a man walking over towards me. He looked to be about 65, maybe 70. He was holding the hand of a small boy, maybe his grandson. The look in his eyes….
I learned the true meaning of love that day, from that little boy and his grandfather.
By NCISaddict98 URL on 01.15.2012
When I was younger I went to nature camp at the WildCat Hills Nature Reserve. One day I was waiting for my parents to pick me up outside on a bench when I felt something brush my ankle. I looked down and a big bull snake was looking up at me flicking its tongue.
By mackenziek URL on 01.15.2012
By Ayşe sena özbek on 01.15.2012
The snow circles the snowy hillside, and falls softly on shaky ground. The trees have long since left this hillside, and the dirt, en masse, launches its muddy self towards the road below. And the sidewalk above is left with little to stand upon, the woman who sits on the bench next to the road stands and watches the ground slip away instantly. She stands shakily, grateful for one more moment and her breath.
By emay URL on 01.15.2012
I was so busy staring at the light that I didn’t notice the shadows that crept around the room cutting the roots of everyone’s consciousness. Soon I realized I was the last one standing. Every one else was sitting on a bench waiting for their last breath to spend its energy.
By Oz Nolem URL on 01.15.2012
I like to have a little bench to sit on around the place, wherever I may be wandering. The little benches provide a place to sit and watch nature, to think about all the good things the world has to offer.
By Kim URL on 01.15.2012
I sat down on the hard wooden surface, graffitied with white splotches of bird feces. The disrepair of the park was obvious. That was no matter however, my target was approaching. I tensed my hands in anticipation, feeling the wire grow taught between my fists. This would be quick, and this would be ugly.
By Mike Thompson on 01.15.2012
He sat on the park bench alone when she approached nervously.
“You- you can draw well.” she said staring at his notebook. He smiled, she’d finally come to him.
By Solanaceae URL on 01.15.2012
That bench reminds me of the time when we walked along the heath in winter.
The carvings of our initials echo down the years. I feel the rough edges of the arms
and my mind goes back to 1963 – it was the day after Kennedy was shot.
We were trying to get our heads round it.
By david lloyd on 01.15.2012
John glanced at the clock and was surprised to see how late it had gotten. Indeed, the light coming in the window had taken on an orange hue as the sun began to set. “Where are you?” he texted to Sherlock, who had promised to be home by 3.
“Look outside,” came the reply.
John sighed and got up to peer out the window. There, on the park bench across the street, was Sherlock, his pale skin basking in the rare sunlight as he threw the remainder of last week’s case evidence to the pigeons.
By floppybelly URL on 01.15.2012
In a park. Usually Central Park in New York, because all of the best stories start on a park bench on a lazy Sunday morning, and what better place to tell a story than in New York, city of dreams and apathy and quiet, gritty, urban beauty? Maybe our protagonist will meet a handsome stranger who change their life, or maybe they will save the life of a passing stranger, thereby changing THEIR life, or maybe, just maybe, they will finish their coffee in peace before walking home to their stable home and pretty, normal wife, although that wouldn’t make much of a story, would it?
By Fiona on 01.15.2012
one of my best summers was spent on a bench between a coffee shop and a hotel revolving door. every day i would meet my best friend and we sould play our guitars and sing songs for the passersby. our city is large because everything is in texas, and when i would go walking in public somtimes people would stop me to ask if i was “that bench girl…?”
By kim on 01.15.2012
the lonely bench that was in the park with a lovely shade green was never sat by anyone. lots of people went to the park ans sat on benchs that was blue,yellow and red but no one sat on the green bench seasons went by with no one sitting on the bench. until a man with brown bag looked at the green bench ” what a lovely green bench.i think i will sit here for today.” the man sat abd threw seeds to the hungry birds, then man left and couple passed by with stroller with newborn baby. ” look honey what lovely green bench lets sit here? ” the couple sat and the baby smiled at the green bench. ever since the man with brown sat on the green bench many people sat on it and got memories from this only one can chnage with the help of others so when you see a bech thats emptyy sit on it and you’ll see that the stuff around you will change
By aisha URL on 01.15.2012
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.