Chalk

The chalkboard was crushed and the wall it once hung on was a crumble and falling in. Freesman Elementary was being demolished. Progress had once again reared it's ugly head. Combined with the local economy and mixed with a businessmen's greed, it was soon to become an apartment complex.

Yes, the school had been closed for a while now. But that is not the point. The thousands of children that had roamed these halls and the lessons learned rose from the crushed rubble permeated the carnage would never be remembered again. We lose track of our memories and abandon our past as we flick our dreams into the wind.

No more would there be hollering pre-pubescent gremlins threatening the sanity of their teacher. Friendly games of Dodge Ball and clapping the erasers together to clean the chalk dust from them were a thing of the past. We could not remember the name of Ms. Felt, our elementary math teacher we had a crush on no longer occupied our every waking moment.

That lunch bag with the 100th peanut butter sandwich flagrantly tossed in the trash as we exited the bus sure would have been good to have around lunch time.

School and memories disappear in the fog and the chalk dust mist of our aged senility. Growing old was nothing to look forward to after all.