Flash Fiction : The Bench by Begin Again Flash Fiction contest entry |
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The old man shuffled along the winding river path, shielding his weathered face from the winter wind. Shivering, his gnarled fingers struggled to pull the thread-worn overcoat tighter around his frail body. Nestled beneath the barren tree branches, a park bench awaited his arrival. Once seated, he pulled a small bag of dried bread from his pocket, tossing tiny morsels to the birds. A daily routine for fifteen years since his wife had died. Before her untimely death, they had walked hand in hand, sat beneath the same tree, fed the birds, and laughed. The old man couldn't remember how long ago it had been since he'd laughed; maybe it was the last time she was here. Neatly folding the paper bag, he returned it to his pocket. His heavy eyelids drooped. His chin rested against his chest. A faint smile tugged at the corner of pencil thin lips. His mind drifted back to better, happier days. The love of his life skipped along the riverbank, swishing her long skirt, laughing and calling his name, beckoning him to join her. Though striking to look at, her real beauty lay within her heart. Her love for mankind amazed him. He watched her graceful movements, enjoyed her playful teasing, until he thought his heart would burst. Rising from the bench, he strolled across the grass, pulled her into his arms, and they'd shared a passionate kiss. They fell on the grass, still clinging to each other, professing their love. Today, like every day since her death, he envisioned her only steps away. Her love warmed his cold body. She smiled, stepped closer than usual, bending to gently kiss his cheek. He reached for her, taking her hand in his own. A tear trickled down his cheek. Her eyes shimmered with love. The old man shuddered, taking his last earthly breath. She'd come to take him home.
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