Graphite Trail

A yellow wooden cylinder lay stranded across a sheet of paper beneath the desk. Unmoving. Heavy graphite tip pointed forward. I lowered my snout and nudged its flank. It rolled. The sharp point dragged across the white surface, gouging a dark grey scar in its wake. I froze. Watched. The line remained. Permanent. I adjusted my footing, leaned my weight forward, and drove the cylinder once more with the base of my jaw. Another bold stroke carved into the fiber. It yields to my advance. Ground marked.