It Was – Short Story #6

He sat on the bench. It was a day of fairness. It was a day of foulness. He sat on the bench. Watching, alone, as the individuals strolled by. Strolling, they ignored him entirely. Entirely ignoring him, they were interesting to him. He was a man of thirty. Thirty meant he was nearly out the door into the next room. The room, he wasn’t ready for that. But the world was. How it was indeed. Indifferent children strolling, ignoring entirely. Him: Irrelevant. Redundant. He sat on the bench. It was a day of fairness. It was a day of foulness. He sat on the bench.

He sat. Looking out to the calm of the ocean. He sat. The wind was blowing his tie. He placed his hands on his thighs, both hands on his thighs, then one hand on his head, then on his chest, breathing, feeling breathing, then once more on his thigh. Again. He repeated the motion. Again. Now with another hand. Again. Now with a third. Done. He sat.

A woman walked passed. She did not walk passed. No, certainly she did not stroll. She limped. A woman limped passed. Hobbling from foot to foot, she passed the man as he sat on the bench. It wasn’t long before he noticed, though he could hardly see. Or hear. Or think. Or know. Or smell. Or.

Or what was she to do about this limp? It was a nuisance from her younger years. Wishing they were back again. But that’s not how that worked. Time. Only onward and upward, leaving the limp to limp along. So she limped. Thinking, what a fair day today. What a foul day, indeed. She strolled through the park along the sea near the bench and the man who sat and the birds who chirped and the dogs who barked and the waves that crashed and the sun that shined and the clouds that formed and the children who strolled and the squirrels who laughed at them. It was evening. It was morning. She didn’t know. She wasn’t too interested anyways. In knowing, that is. Either or, or either, makes no difference to her limping through the park along the sea near the bench and the man. The man. Who was that man? What was such an old man doing—if her eyes weren’t lying about the old man being at all, or not being at all, it didn’t matter, really—out so late or early or whatever it was? Just sitting? Just sitting? Why, no one just sits. It’s preposterous. It’s illegal. She would know. And no one would allow it. One would see, but none did. So, he sat on the bench. He must be a revolutionary, a rebel. She limped by until she could no longer see him or no longer cared to see him anyways. Anyways, onward and upwards. Must be finishing my assignment. Trying to get it done by tomorrow. What was it again? She forgot. It wasn’t forgetting, so she probably wouldn’t remember to finish it. If only the assignment was to forget, she’d do splendidly at it. She’d limp into the office tomorrow morning and they’d ask her, “Did you remember?” And she’d say, “No.” And then she’d get a raise. Wouldn’t that be the way to live. Wouldn’t it now, oh yes wouldn’t it now.

She limped. He sat. It was morning. It was evening. They didn’t know. They didn’t care. It was foul. It was fair. It was

Tell me what you think