by Ethereal Bobcat
Smears of paint line the edge of the ruffled, sanded desk. It’s worn down edges seem to tell a story beyond it’s time. Of love and notes secretly passed through art and science classes, a beautiful mural of the way that people don’t know what to do with themselves sometimes. The story of a girl who was so wrapped up in her own dreams that forgot to look both ways before crossing the road and this was the desk that her parents sat at when they were told about the accident. When a young boy couldn’t bear to hear the way that people would talk about him so he decided just to leave it all.
Sometimes the desk witnesses things that it shouldn’t. Incidents that just seem to be whispers of rumours floating around the school, like wisps of clouds floating in the sky, like effervescent bubbles that pop before they can be examined. When people try to ask the desk what it’s been through it can’t reply. But the inanimate silence that is received is more that enough for people to know that it’s harbouring secrets. They know better than to try asking it again, because they know that the answer they will be shown is one that they cannot tell.