I'm Issy.
I'm 14 and an aspiring artist and author.
Black Lives matter.
Bi puns
Murder mystery TV shows
Shakespeare poetry
I can't even be bothered writing them all down
Have a nice day

Message from Writer

Remember to write even if you think you are bad at it, you're not

The Bench

November 11, 2020


The bench has been there for all of six years, but it's story is rich and fascinating. We'll begin with the tale of how Oskar Milford once lost something very important. It all started when Oskar was in his faze of trying to be a cool person, like the ones in books. This was the first year that the bench was there, you see, and Oskar was the first to sit on it. 
    "Ugh, it must be here somewhere!" Oskar's friend Emily cried. When the pair had gone to sit at the bench, Oskar had been walking ahead, taking a seat before anyone else in the world. 
    "Maybe someone stole it . . ." Oskar was ever the dramatic child, he would come up with some ludicrous idea, the sensible presence of Emily would revise it, then they would do whatever it was that Oskar schemed. 
    "Okay," Emily began matter-of-factly. "No-one wants to steal a stick whittled by an eleven-year-old."
    "I'm twelve." 
    "A twelve-year-old." Emily stood up from where she was looking under the bench, dusting dirt and leaves of her summery shorts-and-T-shirt. 
    Oskar bit his lip. "I hope it hasn't been stolen." This -and he and Emily knew so too- was a complete lie. Something- even if it were a mere stick- being stolen would have been the most interesting thing to happen since the day in primary-school when Jackson Hughes had been dumped in an actual bucket of water, when playing Captain Hook in the school performance of Peter Pan and the Box of Toys. Apparently not only did the person in charge of deciding apon the play not know that it was Peter Pan and Wendy, he also had failing hearing. 
    Oskar and Emily never found his whittled stick that day. Or any other day. It had simply vanished into oblivion, taking a part, a very small part, of their child-hood with it. 
Two days later, there was another boy sitting on the bench. If only he hadn't snapped at his mother. If only she wasn't cross. If only his beloved dog Millie hadn't run away two days ago and never returned. Miles hung his head, wishing the tourists hanging around a few meters away would leave so he could be alone. It wasn't easy being the son of the principle. 
    The massive trees loomed over the bench, making Miles feel all-in-all very small. He kicked a stone, causing it to roll down to the gravel road and into the gutter. 
    I wonder who's sat here before, Miles thought. Looking at the bench, he could se the initials OM carved into the bench, probably with a pocket-knife. Next to them were ED, and it looked as though someone had started to add a heart around them, but thought better of it and stopped. 
    Miles continued to mope, there on the bench. He got a good deal of quality moping in before Anna arrived, telling him to "Get your butt over to the house, because Mum says dinner's ready and you're going to be in trouble." 
    And then the bench was empty once more, all it's past inhabitants had left or fled, and all that was left was history. 

And then it wasn't empty. Annie arrived, to see the silhouette of a dejected looking boy heading over towards the apple orchard. 
    Annie squealed, opening the new book she had to read for English. Jane Austen was already her favorite author, so getting to read Mansfield Park for school was the absolute best! It was just a pity she'd lost her book-mark. She could have sworn it was on the bench, until it wasn't.
    Annie sat there, for at least three hours, and read a bit of the book. 
    "Jane Austen fan too, huh?" said a voice in-front of her. Annie looked up, to see a boy with auburn hair, standing on the grass.
    "Oh, it's for school, actually. But yeah, I'm a Jane Austen fan," Annie mumbled. Talking to strangers was the most complicated art of all time. You could never tell the fine balance between not talking enough and talking too much. 
    "Cool. I thought so, seeing as no-one ever reads the books for English at the park unless they want to." 

Six months later, two very good friends were sitting on the bench. Auburn-haired violinist, Leo Duke, and the all-time Jane Austen fan, Annie Sinclair. 
    "You know, Jane Austen was surprisingly funny for her time. Wasn't she?" Leo mused thoughtfully, tapping his chin. 
    "You know, I'm pretty sure you're just trying to be all deep to impress me." Annie punched him playfully in the arm, grinning. 
    Leo gasped in mock-horror. "You don't think so lowly of me? Surely not!" he grabbed Annie's copy of Sense and Sensibility from next to her on the bench. "Now, you can only have it back if you admit that I'm funny." 
    "You're funny." 
    Leo rolled his eyes, passing the book back to Annie dramatically, and knocking Annie's pen on the ground.
    Adding onto the end of her previous sentence, Annie said, "-Ly trying to impress me." 
    Leo scrunched up his nose. "You just can't admit that I'm hilarious and charming." 
    Annie laughed. Her laugh was infectious, not what people call melodious, but you couldn't hear it without at least being a bit cheered up. 
Two year later. Many have sat on the bench, and it has it's own story to tell. "Imagine if, like, that guy down there was actually here to rob a bank," the smallest girl said. Her name was Issy, and she was definitely the bouncy one out of the friend group. Always saying strange, random things, always dramatic and bubbly. 
    "That would be kind of weird," agreed Maddi. But with her New Zealand accent, weird sounded like weed. 
    "You're so ridiculous," Ciara scoffed. "I'm sure that random guy is going to be a bank-robber." She didn't notice her toy super-hero fall to the ground. 
    "He could be!" Issy protested indignantly. 
    Maddi smiled wryly. "This is like the conversations we used to have when we were little." She was referring to when Ciara and her were seven or so, and Issy was five. 
    "Yeah, it kind of is," Issy said, reminiscing over the good-old-days. 
They continued their conversation, about when Maddi was going to some sort of cosplay event, about how sisters Ciara and Issy had a wedding to attend soon. Even about how the sisters' cousin and Maddi had used to fight so much at parties. That's what conversations with your best friends are like; random and complicated. When they left to go to the camp-sight, Issy didn't even notice that she'd dropped her canary-yellow head-band.
It was in the beginning of spring that things really got interesting. Two girls, Eleanor and Amelia, were sitting on the bench together. It was three years since the very first person had sat down on that bench, and since something had been lost and never found. 
    "Do you ship it though?" Amelia asked, brushing a strand of light-brown hair behind her ear. 
    "I do ship it, but they're not as good as Gibelju and Snowy," Eleanor said, gesturing wildly with her hands. 
    Amelia looked at her. "It's way better than Gibelju and Snowy! Seriously?" 
    The girls argued for a while over which ship was better, presenting numerous reasons in favor or against both. 
    Eventually, Amelia got bored of this. She slid off the bench onto the ground. "Hey, look at that!" She pointed to something on the ground, it was a yellow piece of fabric, sticking out of the dirt. 
    "What is it?" Eleanor looked curious now. 
    Amelia didn't reply at first. She dug the dirt out from around the thing, then pulled it out. She examined it, then held up the object for Eleanor to see. 
    "It looks like a head-band?" She said. "As much as one can tell, considering it's covered in dirt." 
    Amelia made a face. "Yeah." 
    "I wonder how it came to be there," Eleanor contemplated. "It was quite far into the dirt, like someone put it there." 
    The girls searched the area around the bench for clues as to where the head-band may have come from. 
    "Okay," Eleanor began. "So far, we've found: one, a yellow head-band, two, a bull-point pen, and three, a toy superhero. See any connection?" 
    Amelia sighed. "No, they mostly just sound like things that no-one notices are gone, like a dog might steal." 
    "That's it!" Eleanor cried, clapping her hands together. "They were buried slightly or even entirely in the dirt! It's a dog!" 
    As if summoned by Amelia and Eleanor themselves, a little dog ran towards them. Where from, neither girl could tell. The dog was small and fluffy, it's white fur like a teddy-bear. 
    "Hey, buddy," Amelia coaxed. "Where'd you come from, now?" 
    There was no sign of the dog's owner. That is, until a boy ran from behind a cluster of trees. "Millie, come back here!" 
    Millie cocked her head and looked at him. Then, apparently deciding these two girls were more interesting, nuzzled Eleanor's hand. 
    "Millie," the boy reprimanded. "Come here. Wait, what's that?" 
    Eleanor's mouth was set in a grim line. "I think your dog has been stealing things." 
    "Oh," the boy's mouth dropped open. "Where did you find all that stuff?" 
    Amelia stepped in. "It's all buried in the ground around this bench. I guess that's . . . uh . . . Millie's treasure chest." 
    The boy's eyes widened. "Wow, I only just found out how she's been getting out of the garden, but I certainly didn't realize she was a thief."
    "Well she is," Eleanor said, then smiled a bit. 
    The boy's name was Miles. Miles, Eleanor and Amelia searched the surrounding area a bit more. After almost deciding that they'd found all of Millie's secrets, Eleanor stumbled apon something else. Buried in the dirt, by the tree near the bench, was a stick. 
    Eleanor held it out for the others to see. It wasn't just a normal stick, it was whittled and polished, with a picture of a dragon carved onto the side. It was Oskar Milford's stick. 


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  • November 11, 2020 - 12:45am (Now Viewing)

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1 Comment
  • acrosstheuniverse28

    This is so cute! I love all the simple little connections that tie everyone together... I guess that's quite true in real life too ;) Wonderful writing!

    6 months ago