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RICKETY

 She  very carefully  moved her  fingers on the rickety keys of the typewriter. The machine was old but very precious to her. She guarded it from the sight of others in the  family suspecting them of having an evil eye on it .She almost deified it. It was a great feeling to sit before it and pour out the exuberance  of her youthful thoughts which  created a riot  of creativity.The images came alive and stood like etched pieces on the warm yellow sheets. It was the fresh breeze wafting through the window , which made her conscious of the time ,that she concluded.

But now she had lost the urge to remain steadfast. The shiny page ,open on the computer had a sort of urgency in it. It played truant if she delayed. And  now she  also wanted a breather every now and then  to recollect to conjure up arrange and rearrange the broken pieces on the computer. Her scooped up shoulders pressed her chest and her  worn out eyes strained in checking  the material. In  the process the computer wound start blinking. This turned her nerves on and  in  this madness of competing with this modern fiend  and fighting with her lapses ,she lost the zeal and put it aside for later use.

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