Non-fiction, autobiographical piece. Theme: place.

It was dark, oh, my, was it dark, and when your eyes don't necessarily adjust well, this can pose a slight problem. It was a good thing I had someone there to guide me. We walked through that darkness, telling each other creepy stories along the way and laughing nervously at the different creaks and cracks we heard from the dense patches of trees on either side of us. These sounds could all be reasonably explained, of course; wildlife seems to thrive during the later hours of the evening. Five minutes flew by, then ten, and under a single dim-lit lamppost, we found what we had been walking for. 

This was our bench. Placed by the side of a winding, concrete pathway, you wouldn't expect it to be blessed with a view that people would climb mountains to find. It's such a simple thing as well, the generic sort of wooden seat you'd find in any suburban park. However, we claimed it as ours and the view, oh, the view was as beautiful as the person I had the pleasure of sharing it with. Behold, all the rolling hills of Swindon's outskirts. Amongst them, old and new architecture battle for dominance over the landscape, with a motorway refereeing and a dual carriageway creating an almost liminal boundary between ourselves and this great fight. The scene is illuminated faintly by the stars of the cloudless sky and the bold full moon accompanying them. On our side of the boundary, our bench is lit only by the single lamppost I mentioned before.

I knew we had surroundings. I knew there were trees to the right of us. I knew that somewhere down the path, there was an underpass that led to the fields we were staring out at. I knew that, behind us, there was yet another large expanse of open space on a steep incline. But, then and there, I swear, they had all disappeared in the same way the people around you disappear in a movie theatre when the film begins. You know they're there, but you don't necessarily need or want to acknowledge them. Right now, they are unnecessary. Right now, you're focused on one thing. I suppose that's why the lamppost felt more like a spotlight and why it felt like we were the only people in the world who could see this. It was all ours. It was our world, our view. This was our bench.