A scratch has created a shallow canyon across the surface of my desk. It dips below the gloss veneer and smells of the ballpoint pens that have flowed through the groove to speed the erosion at the sides. My fingers stumble back and forth, grazing over its edge. An investigation of measurements. Could I determine it's length? The darkness starts with eyes closed, a breath to stabilise the mind to pinpoint the depth and breadth of this single little line. My fingers sways, back, forth, like a boat in humble water diving deeper, swearing the cavity had grown. It was full of rainbow colours, swimming schools of rubber and pen, a crumpled note asking if they were a girlfriend or just friend. The echo of a teacher's clap rumbled through the waves, scattering pen and paper like oil from dishwashing liquid. The canyon began to seal, growing smaller once again like those leaves that coil and shy from a brush of a strangers hand. A shallow canyon on my desk, marking the gloss veneer. Tracing out a memory of playground cries...
Oof, this one was difficult to muster up. I was really struggling to get my words out this morning.
The idea started with a scratch and then moved on to it being on a school desk and then dived into the memories that lived within that scratch. So there we go!