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The Bench

The bench sat all alone out in the open field. It hadn’t been sat on in years. But it was content with itself, though its paint was chipped, and its wood was bowed. It had been a well-loved bench during its younger days. When a house rested in the open field, and the little girl would come over and play on it, as though it was a ship, or a rocket. She had quite the imagination, it remembered.

But with all other things, she grew up, and the last memory he had of her was on her wedding day, which had been held at the house, and her and her new husband sat on the bench, thinking about their bright future they had ahead of them. It heard as the car drove away into the sunset, off to their honeymoon.

And with time, the house grew old, the girl’s parents passing away, and no one wanted the house anymore. So, they knocked it down. All that was left was a field out in the country, and a single, lonely bench, forgotten in time. The girl never came back. It figured that she had grown old as well, watching her own children grow up. By now, she was probably very old, or long gone.

But as the bench reminisced of its younger days, a small boy walked up to it.
“Mommy, look, a bench! I wonder what it’s doing out here all alone.” The boy said to it’s mom. The mom walked up, and the bench knew the face. She looked exactly like the little girl. It then realized that was one of her daughters.
“Well, I wonder, too. How about we take it home with us? We can fix it up, OK?” The daughter and mother said. The little boy nodded, and it was picked up by the mom, and carried to their car, where its life would continue on, its memories hidden by new ones.




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