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Faceless Bench Wilted Flowers Midnight
Choose Your Next Obsession
He comes to the bench every Thursday. Same time. Same flowers — pink, already wilting when he buys them. The vendor stopped asking questions months ago.
The hood hides nothing because there is nothing to hide. The face is not obscured. It is absent. A gray silhouette where a person should be, like a figure drawn by someone who forgot what faces look like.
The bench is old wood, splintered at the edges. It creaks when he sits, but he weighs nothing. The flowers droop in his black-gloved hands. He does not look at them. He looks at the space where someone used to sit.
At 11:47, he stands. Leaves the flowers on the bench. Walks into the dark that made him. The flowers stay until morning. Then they don't.
The gray figure reads as shadow on OLED — 80% true black means the bench and the void share the same depth. Only the pink flowers break the monochrome, a single warm note in a key of absence. The figure sits at the lower third, leaving the upper space open for lock screen time and notifications. He does not compete with your clock. He waits below it.
Similar waits: Leave Me Alone · Broken Umbrella
Similar waits: Leave Me Alone · Broken Umbrella