Typewriter

            “Sorry, but I don’t see the point in this,” I said eventually. The woman looked at me and then made some notes on her clipboard.

            “It’s just to check what you know and what you don’t know, Jenny,” she said, and then she handed me a book. “Read me the first paragraph on that page.” I read quickly and without mistakes. After that, they asked me to copy it onto a piece of paper in my own handwriting. That was more difficult, because as I said I was not very good at writing. I didn’t have much practise.

            The woman took the paper from me and I went back to my room. A while later somebody came in with something in a large bag.

            “It’s old,” they said. “But it’ll come in handy for any work you’re doing.” When they’d gone, I unzipped the case. It was a manual typewriter. I’d used one of those before. My mum had one, a thousand years ago, and I’d used it only last week. I liked the clicking sounds the keys made when you pressed them.

The End

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