A Mark on the Grid

A thick graphite pencil lay angled across an open spiral notebook on the low table. Leaning my weight forward, I cupped the hexagonal wooden barrel between both wings. I braced my feet against the sturdy paper and gave a slow, steady push. The sharpened tip dug faintly into the grain, gliding forward with a crisp, raspy whisper. Behind it, a dark grey line unfurled across the pale blue grid, perfectly straight until the lead skipped over a tiny fiber. I paused, resting my wingtips against the warm wood to inspect the mark. It felt good to make something visible stay.