I wanted to start out with a clean slate but that’s hard to do in a town where everyone knows you’re bussiness. Bucle is a small town where everyone knows everything about everyone. It’s like being permenantly stcuk in highschool, and a small high school at that. Everyone played the high school streotypes still too. Older versions of the nerds, well they were the only ones that got out and made it somewhere, so there weren’t actually any nerds in
the cold, hard granite smacked her skin. as her limp body lay there, all she could muster up was a muted wimper, hoping someone would hear it in the echo of the big slate room. but there was nothing. no footsteps, no voices, just silence. as there always seemed to be in her times of need. no one was ever there, no one to pick her up. she was alone, and cold, once again.
Blank dark place to fill my dreams with.
A place where I yearn to learn
Gave me freedom to know that I can make mistakes and learn from it
A kid weaves his dream on a black canvas
Each new lover is like taking a wet cloth and wiping down a blank slate.
They start out smooth, pristine — cold, yes, but so beautiful that it feels just so right to wipe your hand down their expanse, their flat planes.
But then they get mottled, marked, stained with color or with blood or with whatever you like. Because that’s exactly when you need to pick up the cloth and start anew.
A blank slate. It’s how a new year starts. But before a blank slate what do you have? One filled with things, whether’s it good or bad. Now to be interesting, your slate is usually filled with negative things that have happened, or anything that can hold you back from doing what you want. I need a clean slate. That’s the only way I’ll be able to live.
The first few weeks back together were a time of stardust and rainbows, Dave was delirious, and spoiled the children with presents and trips to all their favourite places. He had three years of their childhood to catch up on. Tom was a bundle of joy, revelling in the attention, but Nana seemed distant to him at times. He wondered if yet another transition in her life was causing her some stress, but anytime he tried to talk to her about it she would brush him off, claiming there was nothing wrong.
Autumn gave way to wintertime, and they settled down into a more normal daily routine. Dave had arranged for more time to work at home, allowing him to spend more time with the children and do the brunt of his work at night. It began to worry him that as he sleepily trudged to his futon after a night at the computer, he would pass Nana’s room and see her hurriedly shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. He wanted to know what was keeping her awake so late every night.
At the school sports day, Nana watched her friend squeal in pain as she hit the floor. Their gymnastic stunt had failed, but Nana found it hard to care. She was reminded of the night she had watched her grandmother die before her. Ever since then, she found it hard to care about anything. As she had watched her grandmother groan in pain on the floor before her, she found herself reluctant to call for help. If her grandmother were to die, she realised, she and her brother could return to live with their father. And she found herself wanting that to happen.
New year’s Eve came around, and Dave reflected on the year. Even though the last three years had been hell, he hoped the coming one would be a time of regrowth for his family. He could see that it had been hard on the kids, and he hoped they could get back to a normal life soon.
The coroner was glancing through the final report on the Tahara woman. Something about the timing of it didn’t fit. In her interview, the granddaughter had said she had called the ambulance as soon as she found her grandmother, but she was already dead by the time they arrived. According to the autopsy results, that should have taken hours.
The coroner asked to speak to Nana again. Dave was curious, and concerned, but Nana thought she could breeze her way through it like she had charmed her way through the first police interview. When the coroner arrived at the house, Dave was the more nervous of the
two of them.
Nana answered all the coroner’s questions, playing innocent all the way. She was actually pleased with her performance. When the coroner looked down to make some notes, she even allowed herself a quick smile. Dave, his suspicion growing as the interview progressed, did not miss it. His suspicion became fear, and then horror. Nana had waited for her grandmother to die!
Dave watched Nana sleep, her olive skin seeming a deeper brown when bathed in the glow of the nightlight. Was she really so heartless as to let her grandmother die so that she could return to her father’s house?
He could not hate her for it. He had to show mercy. It was not her fault she was in the situation she faced. He hated his wife, and her mother, for creating the situation, and he hated himself for letting them do it. It made him wonder, did any of them really have the children’s best interests at heart?
April came around. Nana moved from Junior High to High School, and Tom started Junior High as well. It would be a new start for all of them, a clean slate. He never asked his daughter about her grandmother again, deciding it was best to forget the mistakes of the past, to learn from them rather than dwell on them. They would be busy enough dealing with the future.
THE END.
The tile was turned from light grey to an odd slate color as she pushed it into the shadows and began peering down solemnly into the hole she’d made in the roof a previous night. She waited for something she didn’t know would happen.
Grey slate. New slate. Blank slate. Slate tiles on the roof on the house next door being pulled off and thrown off into the skip in the road. A new roof being put on its place. A new shelter.
Em um tronco estava preso pelos pulsos um menino negro, a pele brilhava nos poucos locais em que não estava coberta de sujeira. Atrás dele um homem com três vezes o seu tamanho açoitava as costas do garoto sem dó, enquanto a mãe do menino chorava ao lado.
A clean slate. That was all I wanted. I didn’t want this. The red, all the redness. I couldn’t help it. She wouldn’t listen to me. I told her I didn’t mean to drown our son in the swimming pool. His face looked so annoying, blubbering the blue water from his misshapen mouth and the gurgled screaming. I couldn’t help it so I explained it to her. I tried to make her see my side. I just wanted a clean slate, it’s not like we can’t make another son right? But she didn’t understand. She- she went and called me crazy. Screaming and crying, distorting that ugly ass face of hers. Everything went black from then on until I felt something hot drip down my arms. Red. Blood. This wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted a clean slate.
The student slouched further into his seat, eyes scrolling lazily across his teacher, writing flowery but incomprehensible markings with pale red chalk on the slate hanging in front of the room.
a clean slate. i finally had one. i was free from everything that had held me back in the past. my enemies memories wiped along with everyone who has ever even glimpsed at my face. noone would recpgnise me, noone would even know my name. i was free.
I stared down at the wooden slate, the chalk clutched in my fist. I only had a few seconds to write down one reason why I shouldn’t die. I found the system incredibly stupid, but there wasn’t much I could do about. Of course, I’d spent the last 5 years trying to do something about, but look how I’d ended up. Sitting here, with a slate, trying to think up a reason why I shouldn’t die.
Well, the system was stupid. I wrote down the only thing I could.
“Nothing.”
slate
my slate is never clean
there are always going to be parts of life that I can never take back
parts I’m going to be judged for
things I want to take back
to have a do over
to begin again
to start clean
but everything comes back
nothing stays hidden
to have a clean slate is a joke
for how nice it would be to have a clean slate everyday
with new beginnings
there are beginnings
but the beginnings have always started from an end
I feel like this website doesn’t work that well. I just did this word yesterday. I want a new prompt word everyday. Not the same one. Am I doing something wrong. I just signed up yesterday and maybe I don’t have the hang of this yet. Who knows!
You get to wipe it clean. It’s where all of your hopes, dream, and aspirations lie waiting. You wipe the slate clean how many times in your life? Always to start a new beginning. To say that this time will be different. To reinvent yourself.
I think the best people reinvent themselves through life. They wipe their slate clean again and again. They aren’t afraid to start over.
When Jesus saved me, he wiped the slate clean. All sins were forgotten and a new slate was started, clean & unblemished. He keeps the slate clean when i ask for forgiveness.
A new day, a new year. A blank page, each holding expectation for what will come. The old has been wiped away a new beginning is ready. Grab hold. Live the story God is writing in you. Write the story God is living in you. Live and write, Life and the Word, the Author and the author, together. The waiting is done. Begin.
the slate was in her hands as she dragged the chalk along it, making a most obnoxious screeching. The children in the classroom cupped their ears to dismay. Despite their discomfort, Mrs. Groves continued writing.
Gray. Metallic. Blank.
You can do whatever you want with it. It’s yours to mold into art.
Cold. Smooth.
You drag your fingers along its flatness and feel its depth.
There was a wrapping sound sudenly on my desk and i nearly jumped six feet in the air. My teacher’s stern face was staring down at me and my skin heated with the power of a thousand suns. “Erase your slate, miss,” she hissed. “There is no doodling in my classroom.” While giggles filled the room, I quickly erased the sketch of the boy in front of me with my sleeve.
It was a clean slate. My clean slate. Today is the day I take my world back by kicking out the one thing that has single handedly destroyed my soul. Today, I get rid of the torment in my life. My muse for destruction, and my heartbreak. Today, I’m done with you, Mom.
‘start over with a clean slate’ is a common saying for people with regrets. My slate has been smudged with charcoal and smeared in the residue of past and present. I may want to erase things here and there to try and create a better picture, but I wouldn’t ever wipe it completely for it is the beautiful brush strokes and the broken and beaten lines that makes it a true representation of who I am and how I came to be.
to be able to start over, somewhere new, somewhere unfamiliar could be a great gift to some people. A clean slate, a place where no one knows who you are, no one knows where you come from or what you’ve done. this unfamiliar land is a chance, to be the person you want to be.
state the state of the slate, the slab of earth, the cold and grey and dusty, feel it, you can taste what it tastes, I know you’ve put pebbles in your mouth and held them there before, their greyness drying your mouth, their grit, you know that
The year begins with an empty slate.
What will fill the places and spaces on the slate?
Will there be joys or sorrows, delights or challenges?
Probably a bit of everything!
Strongholds that prevent a clean slate
A clean slate. Something to write upon. Slate rock at the to of the Chimneys on the Great Smoky Mountains. Somewhere to start again. A place to learn.
I wanted to start out with a clean slate but that’s hard to do in a town where everyone knows you’re bussiness. Bucle is a small town where everyone knows everything about everyone. It’s like being permenantly stcuk in highschool, and a small high school at that. Everyone played the high school streotypes still too. Older versions of the nerds, well they were the only ones that got out and made it somewhere, so there weren’t actually any nerds in
the cold, hard granite smacked her skin. as her limp body lay there, all she could muster up was a muted wimper, hoping someone would hear it in the echo of the big slate room. but there was nothing. no footsteps, no voices, just silence. as there always seemed to be in her times of need. no one was ever there, no one to pick her up. she was alone, and cold, once again.
new year
new slate
blank papers and blank spaces
filled with fear and anxiety
for what’s not there to come
or never will at all
Blank dark place to fill my dreams with.
A place where I yearn to learn
Gave me freedom to know that I can make mistakes and learn from it
A kid weaves his dream on a black canvas
Each new lover is like taking a wet cloth and wiping down a blank slate.
They start out smooth, pristine — cold, yes, but so beautiful that it feels just so right to wipe your hand down their expanse, their flat planes.
But then they get mottled, marked, stained with color or with blood or with whatever you like. Because that’s exactly when you need to pick up the cloth and start anew.
Writing on a slate. You can erase the words but you can’t erase the memory. Time flies by, yet our feelings remain.
A blank slate. It’s how a new year starts. But before a blank slate what do you have? One filled with things, whether’s it good or bad. Now to be interesting, your slate is usually filled with negative things that have happened, or anything that can hold you back from doing what you want. I need a clean slate. That’s the only way I’ll be able to live.
The first few weeks back together were a time of stardust and rainbows, Dave was delirious, and spoiled the children with presents and trips to all their favourite places. He had three years of their childhood to catch up on. Tom was a bundle of joy, revelling in the attention, but Nana seemed distant to him at times. He wondered if yet another transition in her life was causing her some stress, but anytime he tried to talk to her about it she would brush him off, claiming there was nothing wrong.
Autumn gave way to wintertime, and they settled down into a more normal daily routine. Dave had arranged for more time to work at home, allowing him to spend more time with the children and do the brunt of his work at night. It began to worry him that as he sleepily trudged to his futon after a night at the computer, he would pass Nana’s room and see her hurriedly shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. He wanted to know what was keeping her awake so late every night.
At the school sports day, Nana watched her friend squeal in pain as she hit the floor. Their gymnastic stunt had failed, but Nana found it hard to care. She was reminded of the night she had watched her grandmother die before her. Ever since then, she found it hard to care about anything. As she had watched her grandmother groan in pain on the floor before her, she found herself reluctant to call for help. If her grandmother were to die, she realised, she and her brother could return to live with their father. And she found herself wanting that to happen.
New year’s Eve came around, and Dave reflected on the year. Even though the last three years had been hell, he hoped the coming one would be a time of regrowth for his family. He could see that it had been hard on the kids, and he hoped they could get back to a normal life soon.
The coroner was glancing through the final report on the Tahara woman. Something about the timing of it didn’t fit. In her interview, the granddaughter had said she had called the ambulance as soon as she found her grandmother, but she was already dead by the time they arrived. According to the autopsy results, that should have taken hours.
The coroner asked to speak to Nana again. Dave was curious, and concerned, but Nana thought she could breeze her way through it like she had charmed her way through the first police interview. When the coroner arrived at the house, Dave was the more nervous of the
two of them.
Nana answered all the coroner’s questions, playing innocent all the way. She was actually pleased with her performance. When the coroner looked down to make some notes, she even allowed herself a quick smile. Dave, his suspicion growing as the interview progressed, did not miss it. His suspicion became fear, and then horror. Nana had waited for her grandmother to die!
Dave watched Nana sleep, her olive skin seeming a deeper brown when bathed in the glow of the nightlight. Was she really so heartless as to let her grandmother die so that she could return to her father’s house?
He could not hate her for it. He had to show mercy. It was not her fault she was in the situation she faced. He hated his wife, and her mother, for creating the situation, and he hated himself for letting them do it. It made him wonder, did any of them really have the children’s best interests at heart?
April came around. Nana moved from Junior High to High School, and Tom started Junior High as well. It would be a new start for all of them, a clean slate. He never asked his daughter about her grandmother again, deciding it was best to forget the mistakes of the past, to learn from them rather than dwell on them. They would be busy enough dealing with the future.
THE END.
A new year brings a clean new slate to write down all our dreams and hope for the new year.
In fact, every day is a brand new slate.
Blanked out memories
Forgotten lives
Washed away
Upon the tide
A clean slate
Free of marks…
The tile was turned from light grey to an odd slate color as she pushed it into the shadows and began peering down solemnly into the hole she’d made in the roof a previous night. She waited for something she didn’t know would happen.
i a concrete slab, a clean slate
stone.
One of my new favorite colors – slate gray.
Grey slate. New slate. Blank slate. Slate tiles on the roof on the house next door being pulled off and thrown off into the skip in the road. A new roof being put on its place. A new shelter.
Em um tronco estava preso pelos pulsos um menino negro, a pele brilhava nos poucos locais em que não estava coberta de sujeira. Atrás dele um homem com três vezes o seu tamanho açoitava as costas do garoto sem dó, enquanto a mãe do menino chorava ao lado.
A clean slate. That was all I wanted. I didn’t want this. The red, all the redness. I couldn’t help it. She wouldn’t listen to me. I told her I didn’t mean to drown our son in the swimming pool. His face looked so annoying, blubbering the blue water from his misshapen mouth and the gurgled screaming. I couldn’t help it so I explained it to her. I tried to make her see my side. I just wanted a clean slate, it’s not like we can’t make another son right? But she didn’t understand. She- she went and called me crazy. Screaming and crying, distorting that ugly ass face of hers. Everything went black from then on until I felt something hot drip down my arms. Red. Blood. This wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted a clean slate.
The student slouched further into his seat, eyes scrolling lazily across his teacher, writing flowery but incomprehensible markings with pale red chalk on the slate hanging in front of the room.
“What about the animals?” he asked.
Put it on the slate said Lady Townsberry ~ Sorry said Mr Patel ~ I can no eat slates
Today I have given you a clean slate!!! Says, The Lord!! Past is the past!
a clean slate. i finally had one. i was free from everything that had held me back in the past. my enemies memories wiped along with everyone who has ever even glimpsed at my face. noone would recpgnise me, noone would even know my name. i was free.
I stared down at the wooden slate, the chalk clutched in my fist. I only had a few seconds to write down one reason why I shouldn’t die. I found the system incredibly stupid, but there wasn’t much I could do about. Of course, I’d spent the last 5 years trying to do something about, but look how I’d ended up. Sitting here, with a slate, trying to think up a reason why I shouldn’t die.
Well, the system was stupid. I wrote down the only thing I could.
“Nothing.”
slate
my slate is never clean
there are always going to be parts of life that I can never take back
parts I’m going to be judged for
things I want to take back
to have a do over
to begin again
to start clean
but everything comes back
nothing stays hidden
to have a clean slate is a joke
for how nice it would be to have a clean slate everyday
with new beginnings
there are beginnings
but the beginnings have always started from an end
I feel like this website doesn’t work that well. I just did this word yesterday. I want a new prompt word everyday. Not the same one. Am I doing something wrong. I just signed up yesterday and maybe I don’t have the hang of this yet. Who knows!
You get to wipe it clean. It’s where all of your hopes, dream, and aspirations lie waiting. You wipe the slate clean how many times in your life? Always to start a new beginning. To say that this time will be different. To reinvent yourself.
I think the best people reinvent themselves through life. They wipe their slate clean again and again. They aren’t afraid to start over.
blackboarded cy twombly
i feel my tabla rasa
wiped clean
i see you spiralling across america
tumbleweed chalk and nonsense
When Jesus saved me, he wiped the slate clean. All sins were forgotten and a new slate was started, clean & unblemished. He keeps the slate clean when i ask for forgiveness.
A new day, a new year. A blank page, each holding expectation for what will come. The old has been wiped away a new beginning is ready. Grab hold. Live the story God is writing in you. Write the story God is living in you. Live and write, Life and the Word, the Author and the author, together. The waiting is done. Begin.
the slate was in her hands as she dragged the chalk along it, making a most obnoxious screeching. The children in the classroom cupped their ears to dismay. Despite their discomfort, Mrs. Groves continued writing.
Gray. Metallic. Blank.
You can do whatever you want with it. It’s yours to mold into art.
Cold. Smooth.
You drag your fingers along its flatness and feel its depth.
There was a wrapping sound sudenly on my desk and i nearly jumped six feet in the air. My teacher’s stern face was staring down at me and my skin heated with the power of a thousand suns. “Erase your slate, miss,” she hissed. “There is no doodling in my classroom.” While giggles filled the room, I quickly erased the sketch of the boy in front of me with my sleeve.
It was a clean slate. My clean slate. Today is the day I take my world back by kicking out the one thing that has single handedly destroyed my soul. Today, I get rid of the torment in my life. My muse for destruction, and my heartbreak. Today, I’m done with you, Mom.
Wow- a blank slate. It’s empty and fresh. What do I want? What are my goals for the new year? It’s clear, free of clutter.
The lovers decided to start the year over with clean slate. It would help both women move on with their love and grow stronger.
‘start over with a clean slate’ is a common saying for people with regrets. My slate has been smudged with charcoal and smeared in the residue of past and present. I may want to erase things here and there to try and create a better picture, but I wouldn’t ever wipe it completely for it is the beautiful brush strokes and the broken and beaten lines that makes it a true representation of who I am and how I came to be.
to be able to start over, somewhere new, somewhere unfamiliar could be a great gift to some people. A clean slate, a place where no one knows who you are, no one knows where you come from or what you’ve done. this unfamiliar land is a chance, to be the person you want to be.
state the state of the slate, the slab of earth, the cold and grey and dusty, feel it, you can taste what it tastes, I know you’ve put pebbles in your mouth and held them there before, their greyness drying your mouth, their grit, you know that
The year begins with an empty slate.
What will fill the places and spaces on the slate?
Will there be joys or sorrows, delights or challenges?
Probably a bit of everything!