Badly Placed Benches

Bench blends into the background, escaping the notice of passerby. "If a bench is lonely and no one is around to sit on it, does it even exist?" it snarls in existentialist despair.

A child stops with her mother. "Look mommy, that bench has no cushions!" it squeals in cruel merriment. "It's impolite to point, dear," the mother chastises. They gallop away. A single tear rolls down the bench's leg.

The conjoined benches wheeze “Please sit on us. God, we are so lonely. Please.” A lone squirrel scurries over the table. “You tease!” one of the benches howls in a tortured croak.

Bench realizes the futility of his advertising. "I need something to anchor me to this world," it mumbles.

Bench gazes at the snowy tundra. “The whole world is a blank canvas, and I am the paint brush,” it snarls in rabid joy.

Bench stares into the snowy abyss. “Life is hell,” it bellows in righteous fury.

The Adirondack brothers grimace unpleasantly at the university parking lot. "I wish I was a bench!" one screams hysterically. The others hum a Gregorian chant. Night falls. 

Lonely bench watches cars scream by, people walking. "No one ever stops," it pants hungrily. 

Bench moans in despair. "Why will no one sit on my cushions," it gasps in desperation.

Bench wistfully takes a drag from a cigarette. "Can I ever end this vicious cycle of self abuse" it sighs.

Bench forlornly gazes at brick wall, sheds single tear.