The numbers scrawled on the chalkboard seemed to blur and blend together doing a distracting dance that left her at an utter loss as to the answer. The entire class simply sat and stared, and the longer she waited the more intently they watched until at last, with a violent screech, they lunged as one and tore her to ribbons. With a strangled gasp she awoke in a cold sweat. The test was tomorrow.
screeching noise, learning, white, green, black. So many memories, so old-fashioned. So many years upon decades of children. What can’t be written on a chalkboard? What information does it hold? How many faces has it seen? So many memories.
Chalk boards are where I learned first. Once they were black but later in life were a forest green. Old erasers powder and coughs a mess but at least it could teach.
My dad draws on his chalkboard sometimes. I haven’t seen much evidence of it myself, but what I have seen is so much fun. Dad, why don’t you draw more? I know you don’t have much time, but a sketch here and there wouldn’t be a waste of that time.
They write things and I learn things but when I don’t I hear things that don’t pertain to me. That I shouldn’t care about but I do so what does that mean? Explain. Write it on the board.
Teachers use chalkboards to teach their students. My math teacher used to use it a lot to show us example problems but then she got a Smartboard which is a lot better because it hooks up to the computer. There are still chalkboards in the back of the classroom though but nobody really uses them much. Sometimes we do homework problems on them.
on the chalkboard she writes her name. this is how she will be known for the next nine months….nine months of chalky hand and erasers, that lovely smell that brings back memories of the teachers who inspired her. she hopes she inspires her students as well
Chalk is white and it’s writes on a board it’s nice to see that com some people remember that a chalkbhoard is better then dy erase ones, screw those cvoarboarads I hate that squeaky slhit, chakl is down and gritty
the chalkboard was dusty and dark. ruth scrawled on it until her fingers bled. oh, how she wished she hadnt got that detention from Mrs. flabberwortenheimer. She really had to be more careful about passing notes in her class from now on. Outside the small window everyone else was enjoying their recess playing.
Once we find it, I don’t even bother taking it to the office. Nu and I smuggle it home and hang it in the kitchen. In a few days we’ve covered it with dates and recipes and things we’ve had to get rid of but don’t want to forget. I worry our chalk will be worked down to just a stub before next week. I promise myself I won’t rest until I find more.
She stared at the chalkboard. What lie on it was his name. The name that she adored. The name she thought about every single night, before she went to sleep. The name that she could now be able to say “I love you.” to, and get an answer.
teachers use chalkboards to write. well, not much anymore. chalkboards have been replaced with white boards. chalk boards make annoying horrific screechy noises if you rub your nails on them. thinking about that noise makes my teeth hurt. lol i don
I see what he writes. His hands dusty and dry. He tells me its not about me, but I know. I know. My head is heavy. My heart aches more now then ever. He writes. I read. I smell the chalkboard.
The sound of chalk moving across a chalkboard came from the back of the room. I turned to see a boy working out a math problem out across. It was one of those slide-y chalkboards as well. All I could think was, he is much to small to be working such a long math problem.
Like nails scraping on a chalkboard, the sound of an ambulance wizzing down the street made John cringe into his pillow. David poked his head into the bedroom to peer out the window, wondering what had caused the commotion. Upon seeing John awake, he crawled back in to wrap the shorter man in a gangly embrace.
Nails drug across the chalkboard, the sound echoing and reverberating through the room and bouncing off the walls. The demon grabbed his ears, howling and screaming as he fell to his knees. Jeremy knew it would only buy him a few more minutes, but he also knew those last few moments of air would be the sweetest he’d ever tasted.
they don’t use chalkboards in schools any more — just the whiteboards, the squeak-squeak of an expo marker pressed into the white cork, leaving green and red streaks across its shining surface, easily swiped away, sometimes leaving behind a faint reminder of the letters and numbers and words that were once there, overlapping each other in a jungle-mass of knowledge.
The teacher walked into the classroom and proceeded to grab the chalk and scribble her name acroos the chalkboard when she suddenly heard an odd snickering noise behind her. She turns around only to find her students busily arranging their art supplies for the day’s lesson. She turns back to the board to finish writing the assignment only to hear the same snckiering noise from behind her again. She turns around to the same scene as before, so she continues to finish up her task on the chalkboard.
it is a place where teachers write about the thing they are teaching. they can be green or white. they are often magnetic.the sound of new chalk on a chalkboard is quite pleasurable to the human ear. chack comes in a variety of colors but mostly white.
the chalkboard was completely empty. it had so much on it but it meant nothing but emptiness. Therefore, I have to write about emptiness. here it goes: (empty)
Dying alone, the professor had one wish. One last task that needed to be completed for him in his passing. The chalkboard. The slate of his past and the slate of his present. It needed to be shattered to contain his life. Keep it in memory. Not in vein.
Chalkboards remind me of year nine – of one of the best teachers I ever had. He was hilarious, and always turned everything up to eleven. He was kind, and smart; he organised a trip to Melbourne for us. He used to go around dancing – and he broke the chalkboard in one of our classrooms. He didn’t mean to – it was just too much for it to handle, I think, and now there’s a hole in the chalkboard.
The words on the chalkboard looked lie Chicken scratch to Susan. Why would she give a shit about anatomy? Oh, right, Chuck was in this class. He was going to be a doctor. Ahhh, dreamy!
The chalkboard broke as the winds smashed its black face into the ground. Students cringed under their desks as the monstrous fingers of the sky licked their faces. It felt like the world was ending. But this, this was the beginning for them. The start. A new. Some children were crying. Others just silent at the face of death. The funnels crept up on the lone classroom, ready to tear its knowledge apart, and kill.
i hate the sound of chalk
on boards. i think its gross. chalk feels gross. the boards that chalk go on feel gross.
im glad schools started using white boards. chalk boards needed to be replaced. i hated erasing chalk from boards. it never really erased.
She stood at the front of the class, looking intently at the blackness before her. What was the point of it all? What did it matter in the end? Who really, truly cared?
A chalkboard is that wondrous entity where one can imagine and create from nothing, and then, if that imaginary world turns to ruin, one can wipe it away clean as if it never were…and perhaps begin again.
chalkboard. can produce the worst sound in the spectrum of sounds a human can hear. good god, i hate that i got this word because of this reason. otherwise, a chalkboard has educational purposes and purposes of fun–of hangman or of drawings or of getting chalk on places other than the board’s surface.
My childhood allowed the use and knowledge of them, but in an age of overheads and computers. Chalkboards made me think of Laura Ingells Wilder, which for some reason was assigned reading in Jr. High. I thought it was strange that they were always writing on chalkboards.
the chalkboard was full of notes on a text that I had no memory of ever having read. What was I doing? Where was the lesson supposed to go? Do they realize that i have no idea what I have said about this text or what I have written on the chalkboard in relation to it? Some people are prepared for this. Others wing it!
oh shit, A chalkboard. I didn’t see this one coming at all. I have no idea what to write, and there’s someone looking over my shoulder making sure that I keep doing it. I’D RATHER HE STOPPED!!!!!!!! Ok, he’s gone. I can actually start now. SHIT!
i like how chalk gets all over your clothes and fingers. I also like how the clinking scratching noise reminds me of primary school.
The numbers scrawled on the chalkboard seemed to blur and blend together doing a distracting dance that left her at an utter loss as to the answer. The entire class simply sat and stared, and the longer she waited the more intently they watched until at last, with a violent screech, they lunged as one and tore her to ribbons. With a strangled gasp she awoke in a cold sweat. The test was tomorrow.
screeching noise, learning, white, green, black. So many memories, so old-fashioned. So many years upon decades of children. What can’t be written on a chalkboard? What information does it hold? How many faces has it seen? So many memories.
Chalk boards are where I learned first. Once they were black but later in life were a forest green. Old erasers powder and coughs a mess but at least it could teach.
My dad draws on his chalkboard sometimes. I haven’t seen much evidence of it myself, but what I have seen is so much fun. Dad, why don’t you draw more? I know you don’t have much time, but a sketch here and there wouldn’t be a waste of that time.
They write things and I learn things but when I don’t I hear things that don’t pertain to me. That I shouldn’t care about but I do so what does that mean? Explain. Write it on the board.
Teachers use chalkboards to teach their students. My math teacher used to use it a lot to show us example problems but then she got a Smartboard which is a lot better because it hooks up to the computer. There are still chalkboards in the back of the classroom though but nobody really uses them much. Sometimes we do homework problems on them.
i like it, well a dont know what it is. i do not know the word, is large and starts with letter c and ends with letter d, sound interesting
on the chalkboard she writes her name. this is how she will be known for the next nine months….nine months of chalky hand and erasers, that lovely smell that brings back memories of the teachers who inspired her. she hopes she inspires her students as well
Chalk is white and it’s writes on a board it’s nice to see that com some people remember that a chalkbhoard is better then dy erase ones, screw those cvoarboarads I hate that squeaky slhit, chakl is down and gritty
the chalkboard was dusty and dark. ruth scrawled on it until her fingers bled. oh, how she wished she hadnt got that detention from Mrs. flabberwortenheimer. She really had to be more careful about passing notes in her class from now on. Outside the small window everyone else was enjoying their recess playing.
Once we find it, I don’t even bother taking it to the office. Nu and I smuggle it home and hang it in the kitchen. In a few days we’ve covered it with dates and recipes and things we’ve had to get rid of but don’t want to forget. I worry our chalk will be worked down to just a stub before next week. I promise myself I won’t rest until I find more.
Witing sntnces and drawing pictures that areforever stored in the dust on the board.
She stared at the chalkboard. What lie on it was his name. The name that she adored. The name she thought about every single night, before she went to sleep. The name that she could now be able to say “I love you.” to, and get an answer.
teachers use chalkboards to write. well, not much anymore. chalkboards have been replaced with white boards. chalk boards make annoying horrific screechy noises if you rub your nails on them. thinking about that noise makes my teeth hurt. lol i don
dusty white particles fill the air as knowledge leaks out my ears and spills onto the green surface
I see what he writes. His hands dusty and dry. He tells me its not about me, but I know. I know. My head is heavy. My heart aches more now then ever. He writes. I read. I smell the chalkboard.
yes the chalkboard has a job. It gives us information. depend on it for our future. the chalkboard.
The sound of chalk moving across a chalkboard came from the back of the room. I turned to see a boy working out a math problem out across. It was one of those slide-y chalkboards as well. All I could think was, he is much to small to be working such a long math problem.
Like nails scraping on a chalkboard, the sound of an ambulance wizzing down the street made John cringe into his pillow. David poked his head into the bedroom to peer out the window, wondering what had caused the commotion. Upon seeing John awake, he crawled back in to wrap the shorter man in a gangly embrace.
writing dust white green scratch eraser suede kids teacher marker board billy madison laughing baseball cough itch sneeze
Nails drug across the chalkboard, the sound echoing and reverberating through the room and bouncing off the walls. The demon grabbed his ears, howling and screaming as he fell to his knees. Jeremy knew it would only buy him a few more minutes, but he also knew those last few moments of air would be the sweetest he’d ever tasted.
they don’t use chalkboards in schools any more — just the whiteboards, the squeak-squeak of an expo marker pressed into the white cork, leaving green and red streaks across its shining surface, easily swiped away, sometimes leaving behind a faint reminder of the letters and numbers and words that were once there, overlapping each other in a jungle-mass of knowledge.
The teacher walked into the classroom and proceeded to grab the chalk and scribble her name acroos the chalkboard when she suddenly heard an odd snickering noise behind her. She turns around only to find her students busily arranging their art supplies for the day’s lesson. She turns back to the board to finish writing the assignment only to hear the same snckiering noise from behind her again. She turns around to the same scene as before, so she continues to finish up her task on the chalkboard.
it is a place where teachers write about the thing they are teaching. they can be green or white. they are often magnetic.the sound of new chalk on a chalkboard is quite pleasurable to the human ear. chack comes in a variety of colors but mostly white.
the chalkboard was completely empty. it had so much on it but it meant nothing but emptiness. Therefore, I have to write about emptiness. here it goes: (empty)
Dying alone, the professor had one wish. One last task that needed to be completed for him in his passing. The chalkboard. The slate of his past and the slate of his present. It needed to be shattered to contain his life. Keep it in memory. Not in vein.
Chalkboards remind me of year nine – of one of the best teachers I ever had. He was hilarious, and always turned everything up to eleven. He was kind, and smart; he organised a trip to Melbourne for us. He used to go around dancing – and he broke the chalkboard in one of our classrooms. He didn’t mean to – it was just too much for it to handle, I think, and now there’s a hole in the chalkboard.
The words on the chalkboard looked lie Chicken scratch to Susan. Why would she give a shit about anatomy? Oh, right, Chuck was in this class. He was going to be a doctor. Ahhh, dreamy!
The chalkboard broke as the winds smashed its black face into the ground. Students cringed under their desks as the monstrous fingers of the sky licked their faces. It felt like the world was ending. But this, this was the beginning for them. The start. A new. Some children were crying. Others just silent at the face of death. The funnels crept up on the lone classroom, ready to tear its knowledge apart, and kill.
Green. Chalk dust. Chalky fingers. Pressure to answer the question on the board. Bad handwriting. Screechy chalk sounds. Fingernails on the board.
i hate the sound of chalk
on boards. i think its gross. chalk feels gross. the boards that chalk go on feel gross.
im glad schools started using white boards. chalk boards needed to be replaced. i hated erasing chalk from boards. it never really erased.
she ran her fingernails across the chalkboard which sent chills through my body. if she was looking to get everyone’s attention surely she had it. .
She stood at the front of the class, looking intently at the blackness before her. What was the point of it all? What did it matter in the end? Who really, truly cared?
A chalkboard is that wondrous entity where one can imagine and create from nothing, and then, if that imaginary world turns to ruin, one can wipe it away clean as if it never were…and perhaps begin again.
chalkboard. can produce the worst sound in the spectrum of sounds a human can hear. good god, i hate that i got this word because of this reason. otherwise, a chalkboard has educational purposes and purposes of fun–of hangman or of drawings or of getting chalk on places other than the board’s surface.
Teachers write on it.
They’re hardly used anymore :(
Usually black, or green.
Mounted on a wall, in a classroom, in a school (usually).
My childhood allowed the use and knowledge of them, but in an age of overheads and computers. Chalkboards made me think of Laura Ingells Wilder, which for some reason was assigned reading in Jr. High. I thought it was strange that they were always writing on chalkboards.
the chalkboard was full of notes on a text that I had no memory of ever having read. What was I doing? Where was the lesson supposed to go? Do they realize that i have no idea what I have said about this text or what I have written on the chalkboard in relation to it? Some people are prepared for this. Others wing it!
oh shit, A chalkboard. I didn’t see this one coming at all. I have no idea what to write, and there’s someone looking over my shoulder making sure that I keep doing it. I’D RATHER HE STOPPED!!!!!!!! Ok, he’s gone. I can actually start now. SHIT!