The Line

April 10

Anonymous , writer

I walked into the room

Hands shaking

Eyes down

Feet unsure

Body trembling

Heart hurting


Mind wondering.


I looked up

Books open on the floor

Papers scattered all around

Chair flipped on its back

Window opened, cold wind

Board filled with numbers


She was gone.


I walked straight to the table

Eyes searching for answers

Feet avoiding each paper

Heart beating loudly

Hands gripping my shirt

Body shivering


Mind worried.


I reached the table

Important papers carelessly unorganized 

Red fine-tip marker left open

Right side of the table pushed 7 inches forward

Glass of water spilled and shattered

Pile of folders leaning to the left


A bookmark elevated from the table’s surface.


I moved the folders

Folders are emptied

Corners are soaked

Edges are rough

Seems are torn

Tops are labeled


A notebook underneath.

I picked up the notebook

Cover is red leather

Outside is still dry

Pages are unevenly cut

Bookmark is sticking out 

The latch is slightly opened


A pencil falls out.


I opened the notebook

Pages are textured 

Off-white color

Writing is in pencil

Medium pressure was used

There is a ripped edge


A line on the next page.


I studied the line

Part of a w is visible

Medium pressure

A harsh line connected to it

High pressure

It tore the page


It speaks of pure fear.