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The Barn
00:13 Feb 10 2007
Times Read: 834
The hinges creak and shudder, shedding months of rust in small flakey clouds as the door is forced open. It sticks after only opening half way, the hinges seize up and the door jams. Those hinges should have been oiled months ago, before the big thunderstorm. There had been one or two storms since but nothing like that one, the rain sounded like lead shot, the thunder had sounded like canon fire. Suddenly a gust of wind blows in through what little gap there is kicking up the old graying straw. The roof in the west corner of the barn has been all but torn off. There had been an attempt at repairs but with the shortage of lumber around it was a patch job at best. There were still sections of the roof where the timber had rotted through and let in the rain, when it did rain, and here it rained all the time.
The straw in that corner had been soaked and dried so many times that the entire barn smelled of mold and rotted wood. Another gust of wind and the door slammed closed. There was a bulb hanging from the rafters, the wiring was worn out but it only had to work for a few more minutes, then the place could burn down for all he cared. The switch sparked, a lightning flash and the bulb flickered on. There was a smell of burnt wiring mingling with the dust and straw now.
The bulb swung between the rafters casting elongated shadows across the wall. Together with the creaking of the wind and the swaying bulb his shadows looked like someone who had just been dropped from the gallows. Over in the one corner of the barn that had remained dry he kicked aside an old, rusted and bent bb gun which slid sideways and knocked open a small tin box of toy soldiers. He reached behind an old tricycle and lifted out the box of shells. He slid two shells out of the box and into his front pocket. Pausing he reached behind the box of shells and pulled an old faded photograph from under a jar of marbles.
The jar toppled then smashed, the marbles dive-bombing onto the floor knocking over the remaining toy soldiers which had stood to attention so long they had been decorated with dust and cobwebs. He stood there looking at the photograph until the wind caught the hanging bulb and smashed it into wall. Suddenly it was as if his hangman shadow had been cast over the entire barn. Turning and reaching into his front pocket he stepped out into the rain.
As he started on the walk back to the house from the barn he reached into his pocket and pulled out the shells and the photograph. He stood there and watched the water dot the two smiling faces looking up at him. He placed the shells on the photograph and rolled them closed. Maybe the photograph will keep the powder dry, maybe this box will be drier then the one he kept beside the shotgun in the kitchen.
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