I smoothed my hair and rubbed my forehead. I was going to be late again.
The clean up crew just appeared at the scene, but it would take them a while to clear the fallen tree in the middle of the footpath. I had no choice. I was going to have to use the long route. Shaking my head, I turned right and entered the park.
The park was just as I remembered it to be: the picnic area by the lake, the benches under each lamppost, the well-trodden brick path. I hurriedly moved past them all, anxious about my time.
I could see the exit not too far away, but when I rounded the corner, I stopped. I couldn't help myself. It was the bench, *our* bench. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, and tears started falling down my cheeks.
Finally, I roused myself and absentmindedly ran a hand over our engraved initials on the armrest. With shaky steps, I hurried back to the life I chose and exited the park.
I hope to never be late again.
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Prompt: Taking a different route to work (from r/WP)
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DC's Daily Short Stories
Short StoryThis is a collection of the stories I write daily as part of my personal writing project. Come for a story, stay to dream with me.
