Desk

She worked across the hall from me. Her desk was a trash heap. So was her office. She never threw out anything. Never filed anything. Never stored anything. Her file cabinets were empty. When my car died she offered a ride. I was nervous about getting in her car. I knew it would be just like her desk. I decided to call Lyft.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “desk.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “Desk”

  1. As with every other thing in today’s First World the desk is evolving in shape and function. Just look at the ads, the picturing of them on TV and video. Variety has become endless. Some desks are designed around health and fitness such as those with a treadmill built in. Where we use our desks has also morphed. It’s no longer located in an exclusive milieu. A beach chair accommodates our desks in laptop or I-pad forms; so too: the kitchen table, the living room couch or recliner.

  2. Desk
    A table behind which dignitaries, kings and queens take their seat. Important decisions are made behind it. Yet for some it simply is a place to think, to write, to day-dream, to make important decisions for life. I am no dignitary and no queen, nevertheless it is simply “my desk.”

  3. The corridor was deserted.
    The building silent.
    The sweeper , Rani was singing a bawdy song, and sweeping the rooms on the first floor . The lights were on in janitor’s room, where he , his back to me , was fumbling with the giant bunch of keys. Just in time !! Thought I , as I raced to my classroom on the second floor.
    Darkness had begun descending . The windows were ajar, and the evening breeze was rattling a loose corner of the chik curtain. I shivered as I made my way to my desk. The lid was not properly closed , as it was wont to , went not carefully placed . That was the reason, I got the seat in the first place , due to an ill fitting desk lid . So much for serendipity and sitting in the front row.
    I gingerly lifted the lid , saying prayers in my mind . And lo behold , there it was , nestled amongst pencil shavings and paper
    scraps . My report -card.

  4. Desk
    She stared hard at the desk in front of her. Or was it mere vacuity? It was hard to say. She had grown up using this very desk…her old typewriter was placed right in the middle with her pen stand and diary among her sparse belongings. The wood felt smooth to her touch, smoothed by the touch of various hands over the years. She looked at the diary she had written; a flicker of recognition passed her otherwise empty eyes. But as they appeared, they faded! She recognized Nothing!

  5. I would love to be under the desk at the Oval Office. Not the beautiful little young boy, son of JFK, who had that shocking ending. Not the young and foolish woman who “sucked up” to a president without respect to his office. I would love to be somewhat like the proverbial “fly on the wall.” Able to sit under that desk in Washington listening to all that goes on. Listening to them discuss world matters: over-population, global warming, world economics, European and Asian leaders’ personalities, the upcoming U.S. election. It would be one hell of an experience. That desk is remarkable and, if only it could talk!

  6. Once the chair behind it is occupied by the one who wants to create, the desk becomes the first component of a creative journey. Wanting to create something beautiful is the first step every writer should take to accomplish a goal. It all begins behind the desk of the writer.

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