Man On The Bench

I remember the man on the bench. A bench that met the cold wet October grass and the autumn leave filled sidewalk. It sat under the glowing moon, the reflection bounced off the curled green rails, onto the faded wood. His gloved hand sticking out of his wet and rotting grey trench coat, tapping away at the curled green rails on the edge of the faded wood bench. Tap.....tap.....tap, went his fingers slowly, just two of them, mimicking as though they were running in slow motion, as if they were trying to escape.

The rest of the man on the bench was no more comforting. His feet, exposed just below the wet and rotting grey trench coat, only to be buried underneath a mass of fleeing leaves that seemed to stop at impact, as if it was their final resting place. The only movement being that of his unseen feet, russling underneath in an unsettled fashion.

From the mound of leaves settled by his feet, that had seemed to have found some kind of rhythm as if it had a pulse, you could follow the curves, almost angles, that were his legs. I would assume thin and ricketty they hid under the wet and the rot. They were not disturbed, as they stayed idle in the cold airs taunts.

Straight from the waist, shot up was a long torso, slumped slightly over what seemed to be his uncomfortable lap. It was a slump that seemed not to change, gesturing as though it was an attempt to block the moonlight from exposing too much.

On this torso was shoulders broad and arched, sunken even. It held a head, covered in the last of the wet and the rot, what seemed to be the crown of the wet and the rot. Hanging down, you could not see into the black that was sheltering his face. Just bits of long grey discolored hair seemed to escape into the light.

As i stood there and looked at this man on the bench,just slumped there. I notice his fingers have given up on trying to escape, they lay still on the rail.
My eye's drawn back to the mound of leaves around the feet, that were no longer beating. Everything was now still, eerily dead. What was before this site of pathetically awkwardness hidden in the wet and the rot, was now frightfully still. A few leaves rolling off the mound and tumbling down the sidewalk as a slight cooling fall breeze passed through. The breeze passing by my nose, sending notes of crisp autumn....a combination of cold, grass, leaves and fresh October midnight air that almost stings the nostrils as it playfully teases.

Just as the scent from the autumn air calmed the nerves that had begun to be alarmed. The peace was short lived the light gentle breeze, had now matured to a howling gust. The leaves around the man's feet began to whistle off, one after another in a chaotic suit. Harder and harder the wind, it blew. I could feel the wind turn colder as it penetraded any gap it could find in my clothing, sends chills in my bones, as though they needed any more rattling.

As i began to talk myself into running away, the leaves around the man's feet were gone and the scent carried through the wind had changed. What was once crisp and clean, had now soured and become bitter. I can feel the hair standing up, it doesnt matter that the cold surronds me, the goosebumbs formed would be there regardless. Unable to look away, i place all my focus on the feet. What is that......? Its hard to make out. They are brown and bony, the texture of cross between tree bark and a corpse. They are as jagged as the rest of the man.
As i switch my focus from the hands, back to the man's head....my heart flutters and i lose my breath, The mans head is no longer slumped down, it's now facing me. The moon desperatly tring to shine whatever it can on the man's hidden face, as though it is crying out for me to run. Patches of moonlight expose his intense eye's, with pupils filling up the blood stained white, the way the black fills up the night. Parts of his pointy nose and cheek bone are naked and exposed, the color and texture the same as the feet. The stare is haunting, already scaring the rosy color out of my chilled cheeks. His shoulders now crashing up and down along with his chest, his breath is heavy, it is rapid and it is disturbed in its motion. Rocking harder with every breath taken.



(No clue where i am even going with this, just experimenting and trying something different, kind of just writing a few paragraphs every so often to see where this goes)