Chalk ...

The chalk dust fell around, swirling through the thick summer air. It was settling without much bias. It clung to everything it had in it's reach. Floating up until the last moment when finally, hesitantly, gently it would kiss a chosen surface before embracing it.

Once in a while he would take off an eternity to be intrigued by it, absently, always going back to his black-board. The odd screech coming off it not bothering him really. The low murmur behind him was another case.

Then he felt it again, the chalk stick wasn't as long anymore. Pieces of it were leaving and floating away. Bits of it were now knowledge on that black eternity stretching in front of it. Infact a lot had been taken away from it. It was dying. He could hear the gasps right now. But he wouldn't let go. He had to go on...IT had to go on.

His fingers were aching holding the stub that he was scribbling with now. He would not let this happen again, he would not let this one go. The thumb was now pressing the final pieces of it against the board. He could feel the rough blackness of it against his finger, he could hear it scratch against his nails. It made him wince, finally. He was grinding the nothingness in his hands against the dark rock now.

Holding his palms up, he looked at the white bits of the chalk that was gone. He looked at the nail he had scratched trying to keep it going. Glancing at the board full of white gems, he turned around and looked at the seats. Some vacant, some filled with curious, hopeful eyes.

Smiling, snickering, laughing in his heart, at the secret jest, he blew the chalk dust off his hands. Then dusted his trousers and picked up another stick of chalk.

It was a blue one this time.