Chalk is the best medium

I lie on the pavement, not caring about the chalk on my black clothes, and stare sideways at my fantasy expanse. After three days, the drawing is done. Swirls and designs cover every inch of the driveway, centered around a sketch of an old man. Despite the rough texture of chalk dust, he’s still recognizable.
The door creaks behind me, followed by an equally outraged shriek of surprise. “Allison! Look at your dress. Now what are you going to wear to the funeral?” she pulls me inside and bustles away, knowing better than to wait for a response. It’s been three months and two days since my grandfather was put in intensive care, and three months and two days since I last spoke.
I turn to look through the screen door as rain begins to fall. Slowly at first, it builds up to a steady thrum. Rivulets, eddies, pools and streams of rainbow chalk begin to form, smearing into a wash of color. Pavement begins to show through the pastel stain as my creation swirls down the gutter.

I smile. My tribute is finally complete.

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