On the desk in the corner of the library sat an old typewriter that no one seems to even notice. But, one day I decided to walk up to it, sit down, placed my fingers on the home row of this old machine. It felt good. I lifted my fingers off the keys, brushed the dust away. I couldn't resist for I put a piece of paper around the platen and just began to type and type and type. I do not what I typed, but it just kind of felt good to hear the clickety clack of this machine.
About the Creator
Mark Graham
I am a person who really likes to read and write and to share what I learned with all my education. My page will mainly be book reviews and critiques of old and new books that I have read and will read. There will also be other bits, too.
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Music
The rhythm of the music that was heard coming from the house down the street was erratic. The house at the end of the block was known to the townspeople as being a bit odd at times, but not this odd. The music that the townspeople were hearing was a little bit country and little bit rock and roll. All of the sudden the town changed, and it seemed to go back in time to the mid to late 1970's. Everyone was groovin' and singin'. It lasted for a few minutes and then we seemed to become aware of life.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
I loved this drabble as it reminded me of when I first learned to type in high school typing class - and all on a rickety, clackety, clack typewriter. I was one of the fastest in my class. Because I played the piano, it gave me a large edge with speed.
such a great writer you are
Writing on a typewriter is such a wonderful feeling, way nicer in my eyes than on the keyboard of a laptop. Well written!👏🏼📚