Her hand-me-down dress was way too big for her, hem nearly reaching her skinny ankles and the waist not touching her anywhere. Her dusty legs went directly into dirty red Keds, not taking on any socks, clean or otherwise. No one had bothered to wash, brush, or trim the mousy, lank strands that fell limply over one eye and down to her shoulders. Though someone had, maybe a month ago, given her a “manicure” with hot pink polish. It was mostly chewed or peeled off by now, but a few of her grubby fingers showed remains of hot pink.
She sat on the stiff office chair by the social worker’s desk, studying her chipped nail polish and dangling her legs which didn’t reach the floor.
“Now, tell me your name.”
She peered up briefly through her stringy hair, said “Neecy,” and looked back down.
“Is that short for Denise?”
Neecy shrugged her thin shoulders in the baggy dress, and said no more.
[On a website called Hillbilly Culture, run by Amanda Williams, I am writing daily exercises and posting one on the site. This is another one I liked, so I decided to post it here].