"The Mystery of the Lonely Bench"
Oh, autumn. I hate it. The only things I like about it are scarves and the mood it creates, which helps and inspires creativity.
It's gotten significantly colder outside. I decided to go to the park, not far from home, to sketch passersby.
This park was famous for having a bench that no one ever sat on; everyone avoided it. I don't know the reasons, but it's very curious. In all the time I've lived here, I've never checked it out, but today I'm going to fix that.
My bag was full of all sorts of odds and ends. Sometimes I think it's a black hole!
I arrived at the park in ten minutes. As expected, it was full of people. Many couples, children of all ages, and, of course, stalls with various treats.
But I decided not to focus on anything and headed straight to the far end of the park. And there I saw the famous bench. Just in case, I walked around it about ten times and found nothing, no clues. Why are people so afraid of this bench?
Finally, I sat down on it and, taking out my tools, began to sketch, while people passing by looked at me with surprise.
A young man, whose sketch I was making, suddenly stopped. I looked up at him and saw a surprised face, but what confused me was how pale he had become. Suddenly, words began to flow from his lips in a smooth, quiet stream. He asked me, "Miss, don't you know that it's better not to sit on this bench, but to avoid and fear it like death...?" I just shook my head, not knowing what to answer, because I truly didn't know.
And then he told me the story of why it all started. And the reasons were not at all mystical, as I might have thought. There was a more serious problem, and this problem deeply affected this young man.
Could you believe that just one, unwanted and completely insignificant bench, could become a universal misfortune? I can now. This was the place where a maniac, who was supposedly caught, but no one was sure, because they could never find any traces or even witnesses, and then suddenly, boom, he was found.
It was a series of murders; a body was found here once a month. If they were ordinary bodies, but they showed clear signs of murder and brutal torture. And as I learned, his little younger sister met this fate. It was sad and painful, although I couldn't fully feel his pain, because I had never been in his shoes, and I didn't want to be. After that conversation, I hugged him tightly. I don't know what kind of impulse it was, because I'm not a tactile person at all, but I wanted to. And the only thing that escaped my lips was a quiet "thank you."
After a while, he freed himself from the embrace, and bewilderment flickered in his eyes. "Thank you? For what? For ruining your day with a terrible story?"
I shook my head, clutching the album in my hands where I had recently drawn him. "No, no, not at all! For the fact that now I see." And then I waved my hand towards the bench, the park, the people. "Now I see more than just a park. And this bench... it's no longer forbidden, but... important. It's like a scar that cannot be ignored." I suddenly fell silent, not knowing how to explain this sudden impulse. "And can... can I somehow draw your sister? So that she's not here as a victim, but just... as a girl who loved this park?" I lowered my eyes, not knowing how he would react to such a childish impulse.
And then, glimpses of deep pain and... hope appeared on his face. That's how our strange acquaintance began. On that bench that everyone feared, where I sought inspiration.
After that incident, we started spending a lot of time together. He told me about his sister, how wonderful she was, and how tragic her fate. I drew her portrait, pouring my soul into it. I wanted her to be happy, at least here.
I also became a frequent visitor to that park and that bench. People often stopped near me, mostly relatives of those who had once been killed there. And to somehow soothe their souls, I drew portraits for everyone, where these very victims were happy. I loved listening to all these people, all their stories, and all their pain.
With Michael, that's what the guy was called. Even after I finished his sister's portrait, we didn't stop seeing and talking to each other. I felt comfortable with him. At some point, I realized that I think I had finally felt love. And it was mutual. He was that home for me. The one who understands my soul and thoughts. The one who is capable of helping me.
And we both finally found happiness.
p.s: I write in Russian, so when I translate, I don't know if the whole thing is true. I hope you enjoy this work. (You can also enjoy it in Russian. on the ficbook platform) nickname name : mirinneil.
