By Mugwump [top] — Clean Slate

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

She set down the cloth. Picked up the chalk. clean slate by mugwump

Now , the silence said. Now or never.

She held the damp cloth, cold in her fist. clean slate by mugwump

She didn't stop. Her arm ached, but the ache was a prayer. Each stroke was a small death: the lover who'd handled her like a half-read book, the debt that whispered her name in the dark, the quiet agreement to shrink herself so others could feel tall. clean slate by mugwump