Short Story - The Favourite Spot

Old Mr. George hurried across the park towards his favourite spot, his park bench. He loved to sit on the bench every evening and watch the world go by.

George being a creature of habit, had been sitting at the same spot for more than fifteen years!

The bench was the perfect spot for him. It was under a huge tree which provided him just the right amount of shade. The children’s play area was good distance away, such that their noise didn’t bother him. The bench was also at an optimum distance from all the evening walkers and joggers. Every evening Old Mr. George would settle down on the bench and thumb through one of his favourite magazines.

If someone else occupied the bench, George wouldn’t hesitate to ask them to find another spot, such was his fascination with that particular bench. If someone refused to move then George would throw a hissy fit, and then grumpily sit on one of the other park benches.

As George hurried along, in the distance he could see the behind of the bench. It seemed empty and a small smile appeared on his lips. But to his surprise, when he went near, he saw a small boy lying down on the bench.  A sudden anger rose inside George’s heart, as if something dear to him was snatched away, but he calmed himself down.

All is not yet lost he thought to himself. I only have to ask the boy to sit on one of the many other park benches.

“Hey kiddo,” he called out to the boy.

The boy looked up at him and smiled “Yes”.

“Do you mind sitting on the other bench kiddo?” asked George.

“Actually, I DO mind,” smiled the boy.

The anger rose again in George, but he controlled himself.

“I like to sit here son,” he managed to mumble, “This is my favourite spot. Surely you are not stubborn like an old man like me?”.

He looked imploringly at the boy, but the boy simply smiled.

“Nice try old man. But I like this spot. Why don’t you look for another spot quickly and stop wasting both of our time?”.

Old George’s face turned red like a tomato. This little twerp has the guts to talk to me like this? How dare he?

For a second, he thought of giving the boy a whack with his walking stick but then he decided against it.

Cursing the boy under his breath, George turned around and walked to the next bench.

And just when he did that, there was a big crash, as the huge branch of the tree came crashing down on his favourite spot and on the boy.

George turned around and looked at what was once his favourite spot, now covered by the huge broken branch.  If not for the small boy, he would have been sitting there and would have been crushed by the branch!

What happened to the small boy? I hope he is not hurt! thought George.

And when George saw the boy, he got a huge surprise. The small boy was unharmed. The branch had simply fallen right through him—

But how is it possible? wondered George as he went closer to the boy to investigate.

The boy got up and waved out.

“My job is done. The spot is yours,” he smiled as he slowly disappeared.

***The End***

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Brendon Faife

Photo by Alexandru G. STAVRICĂ on Unsplash