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Prompts pulled from the Holiday 2018 Contest thread.

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01.

It was a lonely bench, on a lonely lane, underneath a lonely lamp. It did not know what it did to deserve such solitude, but the days grew long and weary under the oppressive silence. It would feel, from time to time, the echoes of footsteps or the quiet murmur of whispered promises, but it was a rare occurrence that anything came close enough for it to observe.

Despite being a lonely bench, it was a good bench. It was strong, handmade by a local carpenter with steady hands and a good eye for wood. It was under this gentleman's skilled fingers it began to notice, imbued with some type of sight thanks to the good intentions of its maker. As it waited for the wrought iron legs and support struts to be made, it noticed how the carpenter brought life to his other creations. A bookshelf was prepared for its life of knowledge. A side table was briefed on the importance of drinks and socializing.

As the carpenter attached the iron bars to the bench, he told the wood and the iron of the people it would need to help. "People will come to you in times of need," he said, carefully bolting the two unlike materials together. The bench seemed to gasp as the last screw was tightened, suddenly feeling more complete than it ever had before.

The carpenter carefully loaded it into the back of a truck and drove it to its new home, installing it down the road near a few trees and a lamp-post. He patted the wood gently, wishing it well, before he drove off. It was excited, that it had a purpose and a mission to fulfill. But the people who needed support never came. They passed by the bench, and the lamp, and the lane, moving on to other, bigger, better things.

The bench waited. It took strength from the everlasting iron when the snow fell and gained what little warmth it could from the lamp. Still, as the days drew shorter and the time stretched on, it felt the cold seep into its grain and freeze the connections to the iron. It could have sat for an age and not realized it, it thinks, longing for the warmth of the carpenter's hands or the gentle comfort of the sun. Instead, all it feels is cold and wet from the settling snow.