Pseudonymous Memoirs

Sad little whiteboard story :(

One shaky stroke of a marker creates memory; a dot of color on a work of art. 

Every idea, every lesson, breathed to life. Every stroke of marker coaxes out a new story;-- a plan, a day’s schedule, a year’s, a lifetime’s. Every day, wiped clean. Still, even a blank slate holds retentiveness. A preceptor's life blooms like stains across the whiteboard, leaving inadvertent memoirs for the next to come. A life retained, but the commemoration left unrecognized. One, seemingly miniscule, two dimensional object ends up bearing more memory than a human; and yet all we see is a whiteboard. 

On October 12, 1989, its journey will come to an end. The frames hang ragged and torn; the slate stained where it was once clear. It weeps with the knowledge that its long memory-filled life will come to an end, and with the realization that throughout its existence, nobody bore any thought towards it. It will be marched out of the classroom without a second thought, and destroyed with no remorse. The machine will grind, and the slate will be wiped clean again; Wiped clean of its own life, this time.

(KAY, THATS ALL!!!! BYEEEEEE!!!)

Author's Note

I'm fourteen. THATS ALL!! DO YOUR WORST!!!