1 Sunset Bench

A day normal in nature, as a guy sat out on a bench enjoying the warmth sent by the summer sun. He accepted the light breeze that made the sun's heat not overbearing. These were the times he enjoyed the most, the times where nothing mattered. The stress he held throughout the day, melted away by the lone sun.

He relished in the sun and laid his head on the back of the bench. There wasn't much action one would take when enjoying the weather.

He was broken away from his relaxation by the sound of children shouting and laughing. He heard the thumping of their feet and the joyful shouts of childhood play. The sound brought a smile to his face; it reminded him of the times he did similar actions when younger. When he too was naive to the problems that occurred later in adolescents. He missed such times, the memories something he cherished. The image of a young girl flashed through his mind, someone he greatly missed and won't be seeing again.

He was broken from memories at the actions of a stranger who sat beside him. The stranger placed down a bag and pulled a type-writer out. He was puzzled by her actions but he didn't question it. She set the paper and began to type away the rhythmic clicking of the writer gave the man a sense of tranquility in nature. It was in time with the chirping birds, the two-combined made the sound of makeshift music. He closed his eyes and engrossed himself in this sound the sound of children drowned out the music, his body was brought to a peaceful sleep -- the first time in a while.

This scene lasted for a short amount of time. He was awoken when the sound of the writer stopped, the shouts of children returned. He rubbed his eyes and looked over to the female beside him.

"Thank you." He commented when he looked over.

"What do you mean sir?" She answered her lips curved into a smile.

"Your writing brought me tranquility for the first time in years." He lowered his head in a bow, "Thank you."

The stranger didn't seem confused by his actions as she accepted his thanks with open arms, "It was a pleasure, sir. May I ask what has been on your mind? To succumb to such archaic sounds, one must be mentally fatigued."

"Nothing you should worry about, young lady." He stretched his hand out to rub her head but withdrew it before he acted. It would be unbefitting in such a location with someone he didn't know.

"I'm happy to listen, sir." She offered once more, her black eyes looked directly into his own.

The man sat motionless, his thought ran rampant. It was never his intention to be in a situation where he would express his darkest doubts. At his age, did it matter anymore?

"I'm running, my shadow cast out. My memories have plagued me for years, led to many sleepless nights. This darkness around my eyes, aren't battle scars. They are the aftermath of endless battles nonetheless. I'm haunted by my past. I'm haunted by my stumbles. I'm haunted by the fruitless battles.

I come out here and take in the glory the sun has to offer." The man released a silent chuckle, "It's one of two things I have left." He proceeded to look down to where his shadow would be out in the trees behind him.

"You running from your past Sir?"

The man let out a hearty laugh at the lady's inference, "No not at all…"

He looked out at the sun in front of him. His voice grew quiet barely above a whisper, "I'm running towards it. I wasn't running away from my shadow; I was instead chasing it."

He started horrendously coughing. His chest curled into his knees as the fit continued. It didn't slow for a while and with the final bit he coughed out blood. The lady was shaken at the development.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that." His voice was evidently hoarse multiple times clearing his throat afterwords.

"I should be the one to apologize. I shouldn't have forced you to do that." She much like the man earlier bowed her head.

"You didn't force me to do anything." He tried to absolve her of any doubt that he was fine.

"If you could answer my quandary that would wonderful though." He continued.

She nodded in agreement, not daring to disagree after the scene.

"Why are you still using such an ancient machine?"

"It's a memento."

She painfully laughed, "It actually doesn't work. I still carry it, a false hope."

"There is no such thing as false hope." The man retorted. He stood up from his seat and grabbed the cane beside him. His last few white hairs fluttered into the wind as he hobbled away from the lady.

She herself released a tear. The paper from earlier blank, not an ink stain in sight. "There are only miracles…"

She chocked up on her tears, "Isn't that what follows old man?" She pulled out her phone and look swiped up to a photo of a happy couple, one which was a younger version of the old man who just hobbled away.