An underwhelming sense of boredoment overwhelmed my dull and tired senses. I stared at the white board in front of me. Despite being wiped clean, the faint colors of markers still faintly showed, a testament to the white board’s ancient usage. Countless students before me scribbled their formulas on that board, frantically trying to work out the problem.
The teacher’s lecture droned into my ears and quickly left my thoughts. I learned better through trying examples anyways, not through listening. To my right was a black board, an archaic device compared to the white board. Honestly though, it was more of a brown board. I hated the smell and feel of chalk, scraping against that hard surface.
The white board in front of me belched, and spewed forth a rainbow of colors. Red, blue, green, black, blue, purple. Thankfully no yellow. I hate it when people write in yellow. The colors formed a sort of rainbow on the board, and danced along the smooth, white surface.
The rainbow solidified against the board, motionless. It turned to a crispy, black color, and the smell of singed hair crept into the room. The colors melted together, and dripped down onto the aluminum marker-holding thing at the bottom of white boards, forming a pool of black liquid. The black liquid formed rectangles, and their color lightened.
It was toast. The burning rainbow turned to toast. I walked over to the white board and picked one up. It was still hot, and felt crunchy in my hands. I bit into the bread, and a sweet yet somewhat strange flavor overtook my tongue. The flavor reminded me of cupcakes. Ink flavored cupcakes.
I had a hard time deciding whether or not the toast tasted good.