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Chaos was something that had always cursed the Dream smp server, no matter how many times someone tried to prevent it. But this doesn’t mean that the whole server was prone to the dangers that the players brought. In fact, there was one location that has remained untouched ever since it was built.
A bench.
A bench that looks out over a cliff. It has seen many things, around it the world has been broken and rebuilt several times. And yet it has stood the test of time, no matter how many attempts were made to bring sadness to this world, the bench remained strong. A simple object that has been exposed to the secrets of this server, only to be cursed just to stay still, never moving, never talking. It has witnessed it all. All the overheard conversations, all the death and destruction and all the people that have stuck around to watch it all unfold.
There is a bench that looks out over a cliff and this is its story.
It was built in the midst of a battle. Several people that were involved in a skirmish about some discs had frantically ran by. Angry yelling filled the air. Metal clashing, the swing of an axe, an arrow flying through the sky.
It didn’t seem to last that long though. Shouts became distant. Fighting simmered down. The land around it almost felt tranquil. Not many people had stopped to rest though. It was lonesome. Wood that wasn’t worn down. Grass surrounding it that held no footprints.
Then one day someone appeared. Another person tagging along behind him. To any outsider they were complete opposites but they somehow slotted together like two perfect puzzle pieces that were destined to stay next to one another for the rest of time. One was blond and tall; he was loud and often just spoke what was on his mind. The other was short and brunette. He was more reserved and polite. Both of them had a jovial laugh that could be heard from anywhere on the server. They joked around, they threw insults at each other, they spat out sarcastic remarks. But they still managed to let out their hearty chuckles.
One of them had spoken out, their voice soft yet dangerous, “Its just you and us against Dream.”
The tone shifted. Wind that was just a gentle breeze minutes before became cold and sharp. Both boys seemed restless as if the phrase that was said was something they shouldn’t speak of. No fear could be detected though, rather, the restlessness was a result of determination. Hinting that they were ready for whatever comes next.
The bench hoped that it would feel the warmth and happiness from the boys soon. It hoped that they would come back just as determined before.
One day a shadow loomed over it. Blocks towered upwards and reached up towards the sky. More and more blocks were added. Commands were being barked out by someone. Someone else was frantically shouting back. Glimpses of a figure that was covered in a vibrant green hoodie flashed through the sky. A small black disc tumbled to the ground. Footsteps hectically scrambling across the dirt floor in an attempt to find the fallen object. It had all happened too quickly and too high up.
The bench wasn’t sure what was going on as the tower stood tall behind it.
Then suddenly the two boys returned. Their voices flat, eyes dull. The brunette whispered comforting words. The blond radiated anger and despair. A jukebox had been placed next to it albeit the fact that there wasn’t much to put in it and play. No discs, despite the fact that that was the only thing the tall boy could care to talk about. So instead, the only noise that filled the emptiness was the mumbles of mixed emotions coming from the boys that seemed not as lively as before.
A cycle then began. It all linked back to the ‘discs’ that had kept being brought up. Fighting, chasing, running away, escaping. It happened so many times. Then one day a cry rang out. But not one that was filled with despair, no, it was a cheerful cry. Following the victorious sound was the soft patter of footsteps slowly approaching.
The blond and the brunette had once again come back. They were the ones that visited the most. Both sat, tired yet somehow radiating pride. And the taller boy slid over towards the jukebox. What appeared in front of him was a small black music disc. He admired it for a second before slipping it into the box.
The bench and the two boys sat quietly. The only noise that surrounded them was the comforting melody of the disc.
One day there was a new person.
Donning a blue uniform, eyes bright and grin wide, a guitar on his back. He would sit on the bench and ramble about the future. Talking about expanding a simple van he had founded into a whole entire nation. Hoping that a black and yellow wall would keep out any unwanted visitors. Sometimes he would walk along side the two younger boys, chatting away happily about their plans. Determination would always lace each word that left his mouth.
The bench decided it was quite fond of the boy with the guitar.
Then the little group began to expand.
A boy with orange fur, a pointed nose and soft ears that stuck out from the side of his head. His features resembled that of a fox. The fox seemed particularly close with the man who held a guitar. Genuine care was shown as they would talk to each other, their conversations always full of life. One conversation stood out to the bench, a discussion about salmon. Any outsider would see it as just an average talk but if you listened closely, you would hear the seriousness in both of their voices as they spoke about a fish that was long gone.
Another person joined them too. They had dark glasses that covered pure white eyes. They were quiet, didn’t really talk much, seemed almost suspicious. The bench didn’t think much of it. All of them were in the same blue uniform. Except for the fox, his fabric held a lighter hue instead of the navy blue the others had. They had all formed a tightly knit group, a group that fought for independence.
Then one day the person who wore the glasses walked past. Accompanied by a man in bright green, a man with a head band lifting his dark locks out the way of his eyes and a man who wore glasses but instead of them being all black, they had a white frame. They hurried past, using hushed whispers as their form of communication. Mention of being a ruler. Mention of betrayal. Mention of wining. Then all of them were gone in the blink of an eye.
For a while the bench was left alone, no one came to visit. At some point distant screams could be heard followed by manic laughter.
Then finally people returned.
It was the same blue uniforms from before. This time there were only four though, not five. An empty space left behind by the person with the pitch-black glasses. No one spoke about him. Instead, the bitter taste of anger and sadness lingered in the air. A music disc was played. At the time the bench hadn’t realised but that was the last time for a while before it heard another disc playing again.
When the group came back, two more people had joined. A boy with red and blue glasses, a microphone headset and a shaved head. Then there was a woman, who spoke softly and smiled warmly.
And following that encounter more and more people joined the server. A man, who for some reason was semi-nude, ran past screaming about drugs. Followed by a man in a bright colourful hoodie, each patch a vibrant shade. A clock or watch of some sort attached to a chain that was tied around his neck. Both men ran off, giggling and laughing about the harmless chaos they would bring to the server.
A few fights broke out. Arguments about pets, mention of a railroad skirmish, bringing justice for the owns you care about.
But it always settled down, peace would return and people would move on with their lives.
Then a cocky man, with sharp horns, sauntered past one day. Arrogance radiated from him. He was loud, he was prideful and he claimed that he was better than everyone. A plan for a new type of nation was made. He craved power and eventually, he got what he wanted.
And then the bench was silent for a worryingly long time.
No more laughter from the blond and brunette boys. No more soft songs accompanied by the strum of a guitar. No more joyous yells from the half naked man.
It was eerily quiet.
Every so often someone would pass, but never waited to sit and stay. A mutter about demons that they had to hunt. Murmurs about following a dictator who didn’t allow freedom. Mentions of an exile, two soldiers who could no longer step back in their own country.
The bench could sense the sadness that plagued these lands.
Then there was talk about a festival. The bench thought it sounded nice.
Preparations started to take place. People would sprint by, posters in hands, bunting slung over their shoulders. Excited chatter about how this would actually be pleasant. No one thought negatively of it. The bench however, grew suspicious.
All it took was for the blond to return. The bench had missed his loud boisterous nature. Of course, the brunette tagged along with him. They sat down and discussed everything that was happening. Then the taller boy switched his voice to a whisper. Concern filled his words. He didn’t trust his friends. He was scared, he was worried. The shorter boy was confused but listened tentatively anyway. On that day both boys stated that the only ones they could trust was each other. As always, it was just them against the world.
The bench silently hoped that the boys would be okay. A part of it prayed that they would be victorious with whatever battle they were trying to fight.
Obviously, that was too much to ask for.
When the brunette returned, he wasn’t just accompanied by the blond, the kind woman also joined them. She wasn’t as warm this time though, instead she exuded frustration. The brunette had been wrapped up in bandages, a sea of red burns and scars were spread across the side of his face. A brief mention of fireworks and a failed festival. He was deflated, a complete contrast to the taller boy.
Bruises and cuts were scattered on the blond’s skin as he complained about a “pit”. Angry that he hadn’t won a previous confrontation. Annoyed at himself for not being strong enough, annoyed at the betrayal he had received from his so called ‘friends’. Rambling on and on about how they needed to stop all of this.
Beside them the woman just listened. She was content that they were all still here. They were all alive and that’s all that mattered. She turned her frustration into hope, claiming that they will be able to salvage their broken nation.
Even though the bench had previously been proven wrong, he still believed that their hope would be successful.
Days later distant explosions contradicted its thoughts once again.
It had heard the fighting that was happening. It heard the joyous cries that indicated victory. For a brief moment it was peaceful, all that filled the air was happy cheers. Then deafening booms rang out. Around it, the world trembled and shook. Cheers melted away and instead they were replaced with terrified screams and desperate begs. Screeching cries of a mob that sounded dangerous. A mob that had three heads and could fly through the ai. A mob that could easily destroy everything. A mob that did destroy everything.
The bench despised the silence that followed all the chaos that had just unfolded.
A few days passed. The world stayed still. The only news the bench got was the passing rumours of a new president followed by accusations of arson.
The blond boy came back to the bench like he often did. Unlike other times though, the shorter boy didn’t accompany him. Instead, it was a taller boy, wearing a neat suit, half his face a pure white and half his face resembling an endermans. One pupil shone like an emerald whilst the other was a deep scarlet. Both eyes were riddled with guilt and worry.
For the first time, the blond showed regret. He showed vulnerability. A shakiness in his voice as he opened up about his actions. Why he refused to make the brunette president as he was worried it would strain their relationship. And of course, that is what happened. Now they had been torn apart and for once he admitted he was afraid of what was going to happen. The enderman hybrid comforted him. He sounded grateful for the younger boy and stated that he would vouch for him. Saying it was the least he could do in this situation since the blond had protected him from the punishment. Their relationship seemed strong, the enderman promised that he would do his best to prevent an exile from taking place.
Both of them didn’t return the next day though, making the bench think that the hybrid broke his promise. As always, the bench was abandoned once again.
The next time someone visited, it was someone the bench didn’t recognise. Yet they seemed familiar. The figure didn’t sit on the bench, instead they floated just above it. Grey, almost translucent skin and their body wrapped up in a striking yellow jumper. The jumper looked like it had been stitched up, a thin line cutting down the middle of it. In one hand was some sort of clear crystal, in the other was a compass.
Soon the floating figure was joined by the brunette. He now looked tired and worn out. Eyes looking red and sore which indicated too much crying. Bags prominent underneath them, the shadows standing out on his frighteningly pale skin. He greeted the other man; the bench heard a brief mention of ‘ghost’. That explained why he was managing to levitate of the ground.
Said ghost handed the boy a crystal. In his hand it shifted from clear to a deep blue, glistening as the light hit it. Then he passed over the compass which somehow caused more of the crystals to become a darker hue. The boy clutched onto the metal on his hand, silently staring down at it. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes and all he managed to do was croak out a quiet “thank you.”
For another long period of time, no one came to rest on the bench. Still, life continued moving around them.
A nation was rebuilt. Posters of a wanted criminal were put up. A man who almost looked demonic due to the large dark horns and glowing eyes he possessed, walked by, muttering about an egg. A piglin wearing a crown rushing by as people attempted to stop him, screaming something about an execution. Crimson vines that spread around the area, polluting the beautiful sights.
Then a familiar green hooded man walked past. A smiling mask covering his face, an alarmingly large amount of TNT in his hands.
One explosion sounded.
Then the next day angry yelling could be heard. People who were upset about a safe space that was meant for everyone being demolish. The oldest building on the server gone in an instant. A community home that could no longer serve its purpose as the community was broken far beyond repair. And once that passed, everyone fell into the same routine of constant movement, no rest.
Preparations for another war were discussed as several footsteps travelled by. The return of the blond, now determined to stop his nation from losing its last life. Vines that had expanded had been dismissed for the time being, the only focus now was on saving a nation from losing its last life.
More incoherent shouting. More explosions. More screeching of three headed mobs that swooped through the air. More crying and screaming and begging and sobbing and fighting and yelling. Chaos unfolding right in front of the bench.
Until all that could be heard was the soft breeze and the gentle voices of four individuals. The bench couldn’t make out who but it listened to their defeated tones. Together they sang. It was a song dedicated to a nation they had watched rise and fall far too many times. Gentle lyrics and soft yet tired voices filled a crater that would be left as a reminder of the day they lost it all.
For a while, no one came to sit on the bench. But from what the bench had heard, it understood that people were taking time to heal. They needed to recover, they needed to rest.
Suddenly, someone completely new showed up. He had been dragged out by the masked man with the green hoodie. Both of them sat together as the man with the mask decided to spill everything.
The bench could only listen in horror.
Behind the mask was a man who was a complete psychopath. He bragged about how he managed to break and manipulate a certain boy. How he took everything away from him again and again until all the boy could do was trust him. A story about betrayal, bloodshed and destruction. Purposefully destroying invitations. Forcing someone to sit and watch as their friends moved on without him. Whispering lies until they felt like the truth. Saving someone from jumping headfirst into lava because the masked man wanted to be the one to kill the boy. Digging holes big enough to have armour placed in it. Stripped logs being blown up after hidden chests were found. A pillar that towered over the remains.
The other man, didn’t interrupted at all when all the information was being loaded onto him. He also consisted of green but it wants as jarring as the ugly hoodie. It was several shades and hues that covered his skin, almost like a creeper. He wore heavy armour that glinted in the sun and his face gave away no emotions. He continued to listen to the horrific stories.
Past tales moved into future plans. A plan to finish this once and for all. A plan that will result in one boy dead and another locked up. The masked man chuckled at his own brilliance before lightly slapping the others man’s shoulder. Then he stood up and left as if nothing serious had just been revealed. The man who looked almost like a creeper just sat in shock. Promptly he stood up, muttering to himself under his breath. Something about a prison. Something about trying to put a stop to all the pain. Disgust morphed into determination as the man left, certain he was going to choose the right thing.
The bench didn’t really know him well, but it found itself liking and trusting him instantly.
Next time a sound was heard, was the cackling of flames. Far behind the bench, heat warmed the surrounding air. Smoke evaporated into the sky. Between the roaring flames a voice could be heard, the same loud shouts the bench had heard from the very begging. A cry about someone's home being destroyed, a threat of a new battle. Yells became louder until it revealed that the blond was back again. Slumping down onto the bench, he used his communicator to contact someone. Shortly, the duo were reunited once more. The blond explained the situation, saying how it was probably going to be their last ever fight. The brunette listened, nodding in agreement that they had to try their very hardest.
Both boys set out to prepare then returned a few days later.
Now they both were covered in shining armour. Weapons and potions filled their inventory. The only thing on their minds was the thoughts of bringing back the prized discs.
The following day several sets of footsteps walked past the bench. Groups of people who muttered to each other about a fight that was going to happen soon. Some of them held gifts in their hands whilst others discussed the words of encouragement they were going to use. Friends and enemies seemed to band together. Even the same thump of boots owned by the first ever traitor could be heard. They now wore a crown to accompany their completely black glasses. They walked along with the rest of the people.
The bench wondered if everyone was overreacting or if this really was the final battle.
Everyone’s chatter became distant as they all settled into their positions along the path.
Finally, the two boys walked past. Air was thick with tension and worry. Both boys pushed through it, attempting to hide their nerves and instead forced an optimistic outlook on it all. As they both walked along the path (whilst simultaneously yelling about something called “primes”) they took one final look at the bench. Then the headed off towards the battle.
The bench prayed that it would be graced by the presence of the two boys soon.
Seconds turned to minutes then turned to hours. Everything was still. Voices of people now gone; the only thing left was the whispers of wind. As the sun began to set the bench felt the last bit of hope leave its entire being.
Then it was shoved back in by the sound of two boys, beaten and tired but definitely alive, coming closer and closer.
If the bench could, it probably would’ve cried.
The comforting feeling of the boys sitting down could be felt. Both coated in dirt and blood. Cuts scattered on their skin, bandages shoddily wrapped their arms and legs. A click of the jukebox bursting into life. Followed by the soft him of music. Interrupted by a cold, familiar voice. The voice exactly like the man who used to carry a guitar on his back wherever he went. Obviously both boys heard it as the music disc was hastily removed and shoved into a chest. Words were exchanged. Disbelief that the boys managed to survive. Mention of a revival. Insults that escalated into arguments. At one point another disc was inserted into the juke box. The brunette swayed side to side, in time with the beat as the blond seemed to taunt and mock the voice of the guitar wielding man.
Yelling subsided. Smirks formed on faces. The voice of the man claimed to be proud. The blond chuckled at the statement. A promise to see each other again soon was made. Then the boys were left alone again, the music slowly fading as it neared the end of the track. The silence that followed wasn’t like anything that had ever been experienced before. It was tranquil. No more threat of war. No more being forced to give up things that you truly care about. No more pain.
The boys had won. The bench was overcome with pride and joy.
It had stood the test of time, watching to world around be manipulated. A nation that was broken far beyond repair. Relationships that were torn apart. Some stayed tattered whilst others managed to fight the despair and fix themselves. Friendships that have been through hell and back but are still strong. The bench had been lucky enough to witness it all. It had seen the losses; it had seen the victories and it had seen everything else that had happened in between.
There is a bench that looks out over a cliff and that was its story.