Fingers curling against the arm of the bench, she sits, poised and ready for action. It is as if her entire life is leading up to what she is aware is coming. She’s been training for this her entire life, but it’s a now or never moment. Soon enough the voice will ring out and her name will be called. It’s a matter of now or never and as the speaker crackles to life again, she realizes it’s now; never is no more.
A bench is what you sit on. It provides a resting place, a waiting place, a thinking place, a meeting place. Benches are often overlooked. They can be clean or dirty but in the end it is a bench, and it serves a purpose.
The bench is where we sat that one chilly fall day. I remember we biked to the park on a whim. Then we sat there, admiring the beauty of the day and laughing at all of our immature jokes. It was one of the best days we’ve ever had, and it only lasted for 30 minutes. It was a simple day, but I think we’re better that way: simple. Our spirits were higher than the clouds, I think. The clouds looked amazing that day. Both dark and light. Kind of like us.The bench was cold, meanwhile, which contrasted our happiness.
He sat on the bench, waiting. He waited and he waited and he waited but she never came. Sighing he looked around the park. The leaves blew off the trees in their pretty fall colors of orange and yellow and yet she still did not show up. He sighed again and bit his lip afraid he might cry. “She doesn’t love” he thought to himself and with that he let a tear slide down his cheek.
And there I was, on the bench. Shunned by my team. I felt like an outcast. Stupid. I shouldn’t have thrown the bat. I just forgot, ok? I didn’t think it would plow into coaches face. Ooops.
Over the hills stand a little bench facing the sea. It is very lonely, it is lucky to be sat on at least once a week when a lonely guy from a local pub is too drunk to come home. The bench and this drunk man are best friends.
I can imagine myself sitting on a park bench in a sunlit area in a beautiful green public park. It is warm and relaxing. There are dogs playing frisbee, and children running, and women with umbrellas strolling by. Men in ball caps chase their sons around trees. I feel the sun warming my skin. Ahhh, I wish I was there now. Instead I sit on a living room floor in front of a heater, for it is snowing outside.
Brown, wooden. A place for lovers to meet and friends to greet. Simple, but always there. It can hear your secrets, feel your sighs, and see your sobs. It knows much more than you ever will. Go to it in times of stress. It is your friend, and it is your enemy’s friend. What else could it be?
“Well,” said Judge Remus, standing up from the bench, “you’re all guilty. Fry ’em up, bailiff!”
Samantha Remus stood up from the picnic table and placed another package of hot dogs on the grill. Young Timmy rolled his eyes and said, “can’t we just say grace like a normal family?”
it felt good that day to be left alone for once. my reliability on others wasn’t taking toll on my thoughts. i was free. free to think. to breath. and to be myself. i sat on the bench. i watched the world work around me and i let my feet dig into the sand. the sky was lit up by the sun. i felt free. the most free i had felt in a long time. nothing mattered but myself and the connection i felt with the world.
My first thought was a memory about my 6th grade graduation. we all had unlimited amounts of snacks and an entire day of recess. my best friends and I gathered our food around a bench by the baseball field and talked, laugh, ate and took pictures all day long. It was one of the best days of my life so far. I miss those people so much and I always think of them when I see baseball dugouts.
lots of times I would go to the park and sit on the bench and watch as the world passes by. I like to see the birds and the people pass by and the seasons change.
so there’s this park, right, and in this park there’s a bench (sheltered by some trees, but the trees aren’t really important to this story)
and there’s a boy who comes every weekend (saturday afternoons, always exactly at 4) and sits there
and i take a walk every weekend (saturday afternoons, always around 4)
and he looks pretty friendly
looks like he’s waiting for something (someone?), and i want to ask him what (who?)
but i never do.
a park with on a beautiful day in new york city watching the leaves fall waiting for someone to come up to me and bring me a starbucks coffee before we go on a walk hand in hand with our little baby girl between us skipping along so happy she doesn’t even realize that she’s making us happier
He sat on the same quiet park bench every Thursday morning.
He loved it best when summer was taking it’s first few steps toward fall, when the air was just starting to feel crisp, and the green leaves were only beginning to fade.
He wasn’t waiting for anything…just enjoying the world around him.
My work here is done. I clean off the blood and put up the gun. Despite my profession, I do miss the days when going to the park was about playing on the swings, running up ladders just to go down slides, climbing trees and flying kites.
He lifted the bench with one hand, hurtling it towards the masked man. It shattered against his assailant’s shoulder with a crunch. The wood and iron scattered to the ground in shards, littering the battle field.
there once was a bench made of dark brown oak. the bench was in the middle of a vast park. Many people sat on this bench, and many people passed it by. For many years, the bench ood strong. one lonely cold winter day, as snow piled upon it. It’s bolts that hold it together started to rust. Water got into cracks, and split it’s beautiful oak boards. The bench sat broken for years and years. Till, one day an old man saw this bench, and decided to restore it, back to it’s original beauty
I sat on the bench and talked to her for at least ten minutes. All she talked about the was the wooden beams digging into her back. I looked at the beams like they were crazy. I wasn’t hurt. When I looked at her there were spikes poking from the wooden beams of the bench into her back. She sat further up so they weren’t hurting her.
I sat on the bench and tried not to focus on the fact that I was freezing my ass off. I tried to think about how the sunlight made the snow sparkle, and how quiet and peaceful it was. It was quiet and peaceful because the bastard was standing me up. I checked my watch, more to get myself more worked up than to see the time. Yep. He was late.
Waiting on the bench for you, i watch them play. I can remember being the little one in the green polka-dots, but that day now seems somewhere across the space-time continuum. Leap frog, tag, duck-duck goose. The biggest piece of me wants to join them but alas you’ve arrived, starbucks in hand. Together we watch them play; enjoy their happiness; reminisce. This is growing up: fun reduced by a factor of adulthood over a common denominator of good feeling.
It is something you sit on. It can be at a lunch table, on a play ground, in the park, or around your campus. usually metal or wood base to sit on. Mostly colors differ depending on matching the landscape or some type of theme trying to be brought across.
The woman sat on a bench waiting for him. In her lap was a ticket for florida. She had told him that if he wasn’ there to stop her before 6 then she would leave for Florida and never look back. Up the street she saw a bus looming towards her. She stood. This was it. The bus pulled up to a stop in front of her. She looked at the face of the strangers that got off. Would any of them be his? Then the last man exited the bus. When she saw him she smiled and looked down at her ticket.
i sat there alone and looked at the passers by. They were all just walking past me, all in too much of a hurry to spare a glance. Not that I had an issue with it. Not that i wanted their glance.
“I’m a bit silly.” I told the pale boy next to me. He looked sick.
“Well, it’s true. I am. And what’s more you don’t have to be so placid.”
“Am I placid?”
“Lately, yes. You’ve also been rather unremarkable and docile too. I liked it better when there was a spark of life in you. Now you seem like just another Zombie. And I’m tired of killing Zombies.”
“Oh. That.” He his eyes shifted to the bite mark on his hand. “There’s a reason for that.”
I sat on the bench waiting for her, anticipating the feelings when I see her. The tingling all over my body, the complete lack of awareness of breathing, uplifting into sensless joy.
Sometimes when I see someone sitting alone on a bench, I want nothing more than to sit down next to them and ask them to share with me their life story. Their secrets, their fears, their hopes. Who their first love was. What they want in life. But instead, I keep walking. Maybe next time.
I sat on the bench, cold and sad. He left me, at the thought of this I can’t bare what it will be like. But some how, here on this bench, in this park, I felt consoled. Then it started snowing. Sort of a good thing, now that I think about this day.
I’m sitting on this blue bench. The trees’ leaves falling down on me, the sun is tickeling my nose. I wonder how many people have been sitting here, enjoying life as much as i do. And just when I want to get up and leave i see his smile approaching me.
A bench is nice to sit on. A bench can be used for a variety of purposes, like sex and frolic and relaxing. A bench is generally green here in India. But otherwise its brown. A bench has four legs. Benches are cool!
He sat down beside me and slung a t-shirt clad arm around me, “What’s wrong, boo boo?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
“It’s me?”
“Always.”
“I’ll try to stop breaking your heart.” And he left me alone on the bench in the shade of our tree.
I stooped down to pick up a daisy as I walked in the opposite direction.
He loves me not…
There’s a famous 18th century picture by Hogarth called The Bench. It shows four judges, disinterested in the case before them. Two are sleeping, the other two indifferent. Hogarth was satirizing judges who didn’t care about people, and made examples of them, whether they were guilty or innocent, whether their actions were excusable or extenuating. This painting reminds me of the Supreme Court today, where Justice Thomas might as well be asleep on the bench, and where Justice Scalia is happy to roam the countryside making outrageous, thoughtless statements unbefitting a Supreme Court justice.
Some benches are so uncomfortable – think the concrete ones outside of libraries and on university campuses. I like the park benches, the wooden ones especially, because they seem much more inviting; maybe instead of reminding me of smoking cigarettes and being drunk, they remind me of sunny autumn days surrounded by family. I’m not really sure. You can never lie on a concrete bench comfortably, that’s for sure.
Benny sat at his table all alone. The bench across from him was full of his peers. See nobody like Benny due to the fact that he was considered an adulterer.
Fingers curling against the arm of the bench, she sits, poised and ready for action. It is as if her entire life is leading up to what she is aware is coming. She’s been training for this her entire life, but it’s a now or never moment. Soon enough the voice will ring out and her name will be called. It’s a matter of now or never and as the speaker crackles to life again, she realizes it’s now; never is no more.
A bench is what you sit on. It provides a resting place, a waiting place, a thinking place, a meeting place. Benches are often overlooked. They can be clean or dirty but in the end it is a bench, and it serves a purpose.
The bench is where we sat that one chilly fall day. I remember we biked to the park on a whim. Then we sat there, admiring the beauty of the day and laughing at all of our immature jokes. It was one of the best days we’ve ever had, and it only lasted for 30 minutes. It was a simple day, but I think we’re better that way: simple. Our spirits were higher than the clouds, I think. The clouds looked amazing that day. Both dark and light. Kind of like us.The bench was cold, meanwhile, which contrasted our happiness.
He sat on the bench, waiting. He waited and he waited and he waited but she never came. Sighing he looked around the park. The leaves blew off the trees in their pretty fall colors of orange and yellow and yet she still did not show up. He sighed again and bit his lip afraid he might cry. “She doesn’t love” he thought to himself and with that he let a tear slide down his cheek.
And there I was, on the bench. Shunned by my team. I felt like an outcast. Stupid. I shouldn’t have thrown the bat. I just forgot, ok? I didn’t think it would plow into coaches face. Ooops.
The two women were sitting at a bench. Neither woman knew the other, but both were watching their toddlers play on the playground.
“Hello,” said one to the other
“Hello,” came the reply
The two women went back to sitting in silence. It was a forgettable exchange.
Over the hills stand a little bench facing the sea. It is very lonely, it is lucky to be sat on at least once a week when a lonely guy from a local pub is too drunk to come home. The bench and this drunk man are best friends.
I can imagine myself sitting on a park bench in a sunlit area in a beautiful green public park. It is warm and relaxing. There are dogs playing frisbee, and children running, and women with umbrellas strolling by. Men in ball caps chase their sons around trees. I feel the sun warming my skin. Ahhh, I wish I was there now. Instead I sit on a living room floor in front of a heater, for it is snowing outside.
Bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench bench
Bench
Bench
Bench
Brown, wooden. A place for lovers to meet and friends to greet. Simple, but always there. It can hear your secrets, feel your sighs, and see your sobs. It knows much more than you ever will. Go to it in times of stress. It is your friend, and it is your enemy’s friend. What else could it be?
“Well,” said Judge Remus, standing up from the bench, “you’re all guilty. Fry ’em up, bailiff!”
Samantha Remus stood up from the picnic table and placed another package of hot dogs on the grill. Young Timmy rolled his eyes and said, “can’t we just say grace like a normal family?”
it felt good that day to be left alone for once. my reliability on others wasn’t taking toll on my thoughts. i was free. free to think. to breath. and to be myself. i sat on the bench. i watched the world work around me and i let my feet dig into the sand. the sky was lit up by the sun. i felt free. the most free i had felt in a long time. nothing mattered but myself and the connection i felt with the world.
My first thought was a memory about my 6th grade graduation. we all had unlimited amounts of snacks and an entire day of recess. my best friends and I gathered our food around a bench by the baseball field and talked, laugh, ate and took pictures all day long. It was one of the best days of my life so far. I miss those people so much and I always think of them when I see baseball dugouts.
A place where lovers take a break and observe the world outside of them. People ponder and reflect. A forced enjoyable break takes place.
lots of times I would go to the park and sit on the bench and watch as the world passes by. I like to see the birds and the people pass by and the seasons change.
so there’s this park, right, and in this park there’s a bench (sheltered by some trees, but the trees aren’t really important to this story)
and there’s a boy who comes every weekend (saturday afternoons, always exactly at 4) and sits there
and i take a walk every weekend (saturday afternoons, always around 4)
and he looks pretty friendly
looks like he’s waiting for something (someone?), and i want to ask him what (who?)
but i never do.
a park with on a beautiful day in new york city watching the leaves fall waiting for someone to come up to me and bring me a starbucks coffee before we go on a walk hand in hand with our little baby girl between us skipping along so happy she doesn’t even realize that she’s making us happier
He sat on the same quiet park bench every Thursday morning.
He loved it best when summer was taking it’s first few steps toward fall, when the air was just starting to feel crisp, and the green leaves were only beginning to fade.
He wasn’t waiting for anything…just enjoying the world around him.
My work here is done. I clean off the blood and put up the gun. Despite my profession, I do miss the days when going to the park was about playing on the swings, running up ladders just to go down slides, climbing trees and flying kites.
Now I’m just tired.
He lifted the bench with one hand, hurtling it towards the masked man. It shattered against his assailant’s shoulder with a crunch. The wood and iron scattered to the ground in shards, littering the battle field.
there once was a bench made of dark brown oak. the bench was in the middle of a vast park. Many people sat on this bench, and many people passed it by. For many years, the bench ood strong. one lonely cold winter day, as snow piled upon it. It’s bolts that hold it together started to rust. Water got into cracks, and split it’s beautiful oak boards. The bench sat broken for years and years. Till, one day an old man saw this bench, and decided to restore it, back to it’s original beauty
I sat on the bench and talked to her for at least ten minutes. All she talked about the was the wooden beams digging into her back. I looked at the beams like they were crazy. I wasn’t hurt. When I looked at her there were spikes poking from the wooden beams of the bench into her back. She sat further up so they weren’t hurting her.
I sat on the bench and tried not to focus on the fact that I was freezing my ass off. I tried to think about how the sunlight made the snow sparkle, and how quiet and peaceful it was. It was quiet and peaceful because the bastard was standing me up. I checked my watch, more to get myself more worked up than to see the time. Yep. He was late.
Waiting on the bench for you, i watch them play. I can remember being the little one in the green polka-dots, but that day now seems somewhere across the space-time continuum. Leap frog, tag, duck-duck goose. The biggest piece of me wants to join them but alas you’ve arrived, starbucks in hand. Together we watch them play; enjoy their happiness; reminisce. This is growing up: fun reduced by a factor of adulthood over a common denominator of good feeling.
It is something you sit on. It can be at a lunch table, on a play ground, in the park, or around your campus. usually metal or wood base to sit on. Mostly colors differ depending on matching the landscape or some type of theme trying to be brought across.
The woman sat on a bench waiting for him. In her lap was a ticket for florida. She had told him that if he wasn’ there to stop her before 6 then she would leave for Florida and never look back. Up the street she saw a bus looming towards her. She stood. This was it. The bus pulled up to a stop in front of her. She looked at the face of the strangers that got off. Would any of them be his? Then the last man exited the bus. When she saw him she smiled and looked down at her ticket.
i sat there alone and looked at the passers by. They were all just walking past me, all in too much of a hurry to spare a glance. Not that I had an issue with it. Not that i wanted their glance.
I’ll wait for you at the bench.
Which one? the usual?
Yes, that’s the one – I always think clearer when I’m there.
Yes, I do too.
“I’m a bit silly.” I told the pale boy next to me. He looked sick.
“Well, it’s true. I am. And what’s more you don’t have to be so placid.”
“Am I placid?”
“Lately, yes. You’ve also been rather unremarkable and docile too. I liked it better when there was a spark of life in you. Now you seem like just another Zombie. And I’m tired of killing Zombies.”
“Oh. That.” He his eyes shifted to the bite mark on his hand. “There’s a reason for that.”
I sat on the bench waiting for her, anticipating the feelings when I see her. The tingling all over my body, the complete lack of awareness of breathing, uplifting into sensless joy.
The bench’s paint was wet. There was a sign telling you so, but you had to touch it… as if you had to be sure.
I loved you. I told you so every day. But you had to push me and push me… had to be sure. Until I wasn’t even sure anymore.
Until the bench wasn’t even wet anymore.
Sometimes when I see someone sitting alone on a bench, I want nothing more than to sit down next to them and ask them to share with me their life story. Their secrets, their fears, their hopes. Who their first love was. What they want in life. But instead, I keep walking. Maybe next time.
I sat on the bench, cold and sad. He left me, at the thought of this I can’t bare what it will be like. But some how, here on this bench, in this park, I felt consoled. Then it started snowing. Sort of a good thing, now that I think about this day.
I’m sitting on this blue bench. The trees’ leaves falling down on me, the sun is tickeling my nose. I wonder how many people have been sitting here, enjoying life as much as i do. And just when I want to get up and leave i see his smile approaching me.
A bench is nice to sit on. A bench can be used for a variety of purposes, like sex and frolic and relaxing. A bench is generally green here in India. But otherwise its brown. A bench has four legs. Benches are cool!
He sat down beside me and slung a t-shirt clad arm around me, “What’s wrong, boo boo?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
“It’s me?”
“Always.”
“I’ll try to stop breaking your heart.” And he left me alone on the bench in the shade of our tree.
I stooped down to pick up a daisy as I walked in the opposite direction.
He loves me not…
There’s a famous 18th century picture by Hogarth called The Bench. It shows four judges, disinterested in the case before them. Two are sleeping, the other two indifferent. Hogarth was satirizing judges who didn’t care about people, and made examples of them, whether they were guilty or innocent, whether their actions were excusable or extenuating. This painting reminds me of the Supreme Court today, where Justice Thomas might as well be asleep on the bench, and where Justice Scalia is happy to roam the countryside making outrageous, thoughtless statements unbefitting a Supreme Court justice.
Some benches are so uncomfortable – think the concrete ones outside of libraries and on university campuses. I like the park benches, the wooden ones especially, because they seem much more inviting; maybe instead of reminding me of smoking cigarettes and being drunk, they remind me of sunny autumn days surrounded by family. I’m not really sure. You can never lie on a concrete bench comfortably, that’s for sure.
Benny sat at his table all alone. The bench across from him was full of his peers. See nobody like Benny due to the fact that he was considered an adulterer.
He had been working on it for 16 years. A labor of love he told himself, ut he knew that the bench meant so much more, it drove him.