Brushing Up

As I shuffled through the file, a couple pages fell free and flew down to the hard floor. The box tipped too far forward, spilled some of its contents against more white while the rectangle lid toppled away.
I skimmed the two pages left in my hands. Vague scratches that were useless. I wasn’t looking for fragments. Not these words and phrases. No, I needed something else.
I crumpled the useless scraps away, picked a few pages from the floor, and scrambled through the heaps in droves. Some part of me wanted to snatch the right page from the air, somehow managed through super brain calculations to deduce which one held what I needed.
A metal frame crashed to pieces a mile away. The clanging and shuffling of boxes and paper reached my section quick. Boxes around me rattled free, launched off the shelves. I shuffled to the parallel shelf and rampaged through the first box I could reach.
I flipped through the pages as fast as I could, which wasn’t as fast as I wished. Growing frustrated after another stack, I chunked that one aside, and began on the next, hopping to the side so I made some distance from–
Another frame went down. This time a frame flew through the air, shrunk to paper against some unseen walls.
One came for me. I tripped to the side and scuffed a box sticking itself out. As it spun out of control and puked its pages aloft. The moment happened. I focused and found the page.
Deep in the middle. Framed by the surrounding fall.
I reached, fingers unhinged themselves to stretch and puncture the words—–

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