People never thought it was possible, but it did happen.
Spontaneous human combustion.
Right there before our eyes, all that remained of old George Warthurst, who’d, sat on the same park bench every day for thirty years.
George was a park personality, a man who could be seen every day and helped to settle the anxious and the wary because when they saw George, they knew all was well in the world.
Now in what witnesses said was little more than a puff of smoke George was gone and only his old leather glove remained.
The seat was also slightly singed, but that was nothing compared to the shock of George being no more.
He was at times a feisty man; he had opinions on most things and was never shy about sharing them with anyone who came close enough to hear them. If you did, you were sure to get a good earful as he had the quaint knack of sprinkling his opinions with a select array of expletives. It was the main reason parents warned their children to steer well clear of him.
In the aftermath, the local council decided to erect a plaque onto the seat marking it as George’s seat. The glove it had bronzed and placed above it.
It was a beautiful gesture, and the stories of George became part of park legend.