The Bench

You sat in your usual spot, a lovely handcrafted wooden bench, to overlook a large pond you'd spent so many evenings letting your mind's eye sort thoughts on. You visited often, it offered the perfect spot to relax and idly watch the world go by. The shade of the trees saved you from the otherwise relentless summer sun, and the children playing on the other side of the shimmering blue surface made for a nostalgic window to better times.

The sounds of a chainsaw sprang to life, ruining the moment as a man far across the park began to take down one of your favorite trees. And as if on queue, A gentleman walked past, catching your attention with his unintentional proximity and quite intentional strict expression. He wasn't particularly interesting at first glance, he wore simple clothes and an ordinary hat to cover a balding head.

He began shouting at one of the children, undisturbed by your presence. From what you could make of his choice of wording, (brash would be an insulting understatement) the child had missed a family deadline and forgotten to inform his parents that he would be going out. He was to be brought back home to "learn a very valuable lesson" about "respecting time."

A woman followed close behind, supporting the authoritative atmosphere of the obvious father with what you suspected to be her ordinary showing of helpless submission.

The boy, having been yelled at, walked solemnly around the pond towards his father, prepared to return home and give in to whatever retribution he had to endure. A flash of some metallic object in the father's trousers alerted you that he was armed.

"Hello!" The woman greeted you with unnatural enthusiasm, "It's a lovely place, isn't it?"

And that's when you knew it most certainly wasn't a lovely place.