Today I have something a little different to share. As you probably guessed from my various posts about writing, I am a writer myself. It’s something that I started doing around age 13, and it’s been a passion of mine ever since. I have been working on some writing throughout the summer, and I have a small piece of fiction that I would like to show you. The inspiration that I used to create this piece was this picture:
The two of us came here a lot at first, it was a spot that we could find a type of peace that was impossible in our normal lives. The bench was always empty, it seemed, so it was the perfect place for two loners like us.
We would always debate over who had discovered this magical place first, me or her. We were both insistent on being the first explorer, but the truth was that we had found it together. The ground around the bench was beaten down with shoe prints, some faded from years gone by, and others fresh and new. Each indent told a story of our life together, an adventure that we had imagined and then created.
Looking at the more recent prints, though, it was easy to tell how our story had changed so drastically. The two sets of prints had become light, softer treading. These creases and indents depicted my sorrow, my anger. Their wear in the ground demonstrated the pacing back and forth that I had done in an effort to figure out how to bring the both of us back to our bench. Our peace and solitude there had been destroyed by the curtain between the two worlds. The curtain that had lured her away from me and had enticed her to cross over the barrier with promises of solitude and happiness. It hadn’t created happiness, though, not for me.
Her prints were starting to fade now, as her memory began to disappear from the world I was stuck in without her. The bench was no longer the same, and I was just as changed. Eventually, I stopped going altogether, and before I knew it, life had started to move on at its slow pace, and the bench remained where it was, lonely and empty of adventures.
Years later, I went back just to see if it was still standing and found that it was, and all the footprints had been wiped away by time. When I looked closely, though, I could still see two. One of mine and one of hers. We had both left the bench, and been forced apart, but the bench kept us alive and together. Our adventures still lived on here, and part of her would always be here with part of me. This would always be our place.
So, there’s just an abstract little something for you to read and hopefully enjoy. Feel free to let me know what you think, all feedback is good!