The Stories of the Park

A short story of the many strangers walking past a bench and it's different morals.

            The menacing man continued to kick, as if the aching heartache would halt. Her words still bounced around, “I didn't want you to find out this way.” Minutes of silence stood in the air. Soon the mans’ tennis shoes left rubber skid marks and dents on me, along with the young ladies tears. The slow drips rolling like boulders off my back, soaking into my cracks. Back and forth shouting, grabbing the attention of passing families, children, and friends. “Six years, si...six years Penelope! I gave you happiness, love, and support through all of your struggles, you go behind my back to her!” Penelope laid her sobbing head against me and tried to cover herself with a red sweatshirt, pulled out of the backpack besides me. “Trtr…Tristan I am sorry, I… I'm so sorry. I had a moment of weakness with her, then again and again. I swear to you I never meant for it get this far.”

            Tristan finished kicking me and soon after began thrashing himself upon me. His fists began to bleed and turn red, staining dried blood on my once perfect form. “Why? Why me? I thought I could be perfect. I didn't even know you were gay,” he wailed. A small crowd gathered around us and it was amazing publicity. I was never this popular. The couple was watched and shunned by more passing by. Penelope bawled and stood off me and ran. “Come back here! Penelope!” A couple taking a gentle walk, finding me and arguing, and ending with a final depart ending the happy two.

The day elapsed to afternoon and a little boy, looked only nine years old, paced up to me and stood there. He began to peer in all directions for his “Mommy and Daddy.” He couldn’t muster the words to call out from fear and was now lost.

Sitting down, he nudging into his pockets, pulling out a faded teddy bear. It held the imagine of a baby's toy. The little boy started to stroke its ears with compulsion and remained silent to divert attention away. Only a few minutes passed, till two worried adults ran towards hi, crying out in a brittle voice, “Oh Thomas, thank heavens we found you!” Grasping Thomas in their arms, the overjoyed family walked away towards the lake.

            That was the last I ever saw the boy, until years later. He was with a girl around the deciduous trees behind me, they had picnics and walks. No one ever thinks of the people I encounter and their lives changed after meeting me.

            Recollecting my first memory, the addition into the park. The day was filled with laughter and people I’ve never encountered before. An old man approached me, laid his cane against my polished backboard and brushed his hands against all my nails and ridges. Little did I know, he was blind.

            Every day the old man came to me. He would feed the birds and hum tunes out loud.

His body had a disadvantage with sight, frail and wrinkled skin and many kids would taunt him, but every afternoon a smile stood on his face. This man couldn’t see a world, yet still lived for it constantly.

            Years passed and his visits declined, to the point I no longer saw him. To this day, I still hope for a man like him to stroll down the trails of the park and spread wisdom and love or like the child who developed courage and the couple who fought till the end, not giving up easily.

            This park has activities, sports, and animals to be entertained, but the core is built from the people. Everyone who has passed by me had either someone or something to their lives and as reality catches up, I am old and tattered, by weather. The glosses of shimmering coats painted on my surface are dull and faded, from the once perfect wood. I was now an eroded bench filled with strangers experiences and however my form manifested, the stories in this park live within me.

Author's Note

This is my first writing, basically any feedback would be nice! Thanks!