I wasn't allowed to use adverbs like "hungrily" for this writing. Anyways, I need correction on any grammar, sentence structure, and organization. God bless you.
Sarah sighed. The silver knives that she had received last Christmas did not look so pretty now. White rice, which had become cold and stiff, refused to release the knives, and somehow, the ketchup and eggs from breakfast, speckled the utensils too (since when do white rice and ketchup and eggs mix?). Steak sauce smeared them, and even the Wagner cast iron pot did not look as appealing anymore. When Sarah tilted the pot towards her and peered inside, wilted garlic cloves and bits of lettuce skidded across its greasy ice skating rink. Not just that, but a mountain of coffee-stained mugs from breakfast stacked a foot high.
Scrunching her nose, she turned and opened the faucet. Out gushed soothing water. She plugged the drainer and water began rising in the sink. Into the pond, she squirted a stream of detergent—releasing bubbles rainbow. And then began the battle of water versus bubbles. As the water kept raining onto the pond, all the more bubbles grew overtaking the water. Sarah could not resist so she scooped her hand into the battle of suds. Cupping a handful, she watched them vanish like snowflakes.
She knew her task must be done, so—with another sigh, she dragged the cast iron pot, silver forks and knives, and mugs into the pond. Plop! Down the dishes sank, and up the lettuce rose.
The water faucet, still swishing its full and puffy skirts, rained upon the pond. Centimeter by centimeter, the water rose higher. Oops! The pond became an ocean, sweeping and stretching like elastic across the counter; absorbing Sarah’s shirt. Snapping shut the faucet, she watched as the steak sauce and ketchup swirled together at the center of the pond.
When she lifted the pot from the sink, up came lettuce and garlic which glued to it. She reached for a rag. Dipping it into the sink, she slid the rag across the pan’s bottom and with a quiet plunk, the lettuce and garlic slip into the water. But the grease in the pot was rebellious and refused to let go. She scrubbed with all her might, squirting soap not just in her rag, but also in the pot. Back and forth, round and round…now the pot’s grease vanished and was ready to rinse.
Plunging her hand into the water, she groped for the plug. There—the water sunk a few inches. She opened the faucet again to raise the cast iron pot. Swish, swish. She positioned the pot upside-down onto the drying rack.
Rim of mugs emerge from the water, beginning to float. Reaching for them, she swirled her sponge into the cup, trying to rub the bottom of the cup, but she only succeeded in jamming her fist into her cup and in making the sponge squeal in pain from the resistance. Reach, rinse, rub, dry, reach…she repeated the process for six mugs.
Now only knives remained. Holding her breath, she held the knife at arm’s length with only her index and thumb. Rubbing the foamy soap rag back and forth against the knife, the steak sauce stained the rag and plopped into the water. Under the running water she placed the knife. The water landed straight down on the knife, then skidded off the edges, falling as if the end of a waterfall and into the pond. One by one, she placed them into the drying rack.
Looking to her left, she smiled. Knives leaned into the cup in the drying rack, mugs dangled from the hooks, and the cast iron pot spread flat, stretching out its arm. No more steak sauce painted the knives brown. The mugs no longer revealed how much cups of coffee she had been drinking and were not supposed to drink. And the cast iron pot looked just like it had when she received it for Christmas. Shiny. She walked out of the kitchen, away from her accomplishment. She had better things to do.