Writing Practice

Her hands were as blackened as a coal miners, and an errant rub had transferred the newsprint from her fingers to the side of her nose.  Minor scrapes and bruised dotted her legs and arms.  The flap of a pants pocket hung open where a plastic bin had snagged the button and popped it free.  She sighed and put her hands on her hips, surveying the nearly empty kitchen. 

Grabbing one of the few empty boxes left, she carefully wrapped and packed the remaining random dishes into the box.  She snagged the packing tape off the counter, sealed up the box, and lifted it.  With one final glance at the kitchen, she walked out to the moving van and found a place to tuck the box.  She walked back into the house to toss the last few items into a box, ready to be done and gone.

(I’ve been packing for the last two days.  Should be done soon.  🙂 )

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