Young Writers Society

"What memory is inspired by the word 'chalk?' Write it down."

(note: from a writing prompt generator)

Its screech will pierce you. It has no heart, only soul. The children at school, they all stop and listen; minds disrupted by the commanding sound. They claw out their hair in attempt to silence it , to relieve their pain. It will never stop; not until the story has been completed, until the poison has been written out.

More strokes against the light gray of the sidewalk; color born from within the smoke. Has the boy finished? His arm turns an arc, wrist remaining steady with the chalk streaking against the concrete. The pale green in which he gives rise to his legend is nothing more than shaded dust, but for now it will do.

He inhales, the black clouds that once lingered in the air now drowning his system. A few more coughs than usual, but he manages and stays close to the ground to avoid the fumes. Now he cranes his head over his shoulder to take in the world around him.

“A shadow,” the boy says before returning his gaze to the sidewalk, “nothing more than a shadow.”

He picks up a black piece of chalk.