Marks

The wooden table top was covered in ink. Words called out to her, begging to be noticed. In the final moments of the exam hour, with the idle silence egging her on, she obliged.

There had been people here, before her. People who had left something behind.

Letters strewn across. Marks.

There was something about those careless scribblings that amused her. There were song lyrics, there were names, there were science and math formulas.

She imagined people sitting around in groups, surrounded by moments transforming into memories. Some bitter, some sweet. She pictured students, fingers curling in frustration, desperate to scrape through the infinite list of examinations and tests. She saw them smile with unspoken gratitude for the inked pointers. She saw the jubilant faces, glowing with the triumph of having declared the slogan of their life to the rest of the world, slogans etched in wood. She smiled as she read the names, together in print. How many of those names still remained together, she'd never find out. How many of those bonds had slowly faded away, like these words soon would, she'd never know.

The crude drawings, the random array of letters, to someone somewhere, held meanings. And now, she felt connected to all those unknown people, in one of the most subtle manifestations of the word.

As the moments stretched before her, she felt herself becoming a part of it all, a part of the grand scheme of things.
She was not the first one here, nor will she be the last. But nonetheless, she still had a part to play. She still had a mark to leave.

On the wooden table.

On the only Earth.

She bent down and left her mark.

"I was here", she wrote.