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On the Iron

Restrone built a lovely little home on the nucleus of an atom. He picked iron for its stability. It was a cute mid century modern with a couple bedrooms. He painted it green with white trim. At night he would sit out in the garden and watch electrons spin metallic rainbows. There were nights he never wanted to go in.

He spent the weekends on little projects. He planted grass in the front yard. He built a nice white fence. It was crooked, but it was his.

Restrone was proud.

He loved his garden the most. He painted in red flowers. Shades of chrysanthemums and waves of marigolds splashed the wavy hills. They perfectly complimented the green house with the white trim. This was by design.

The years past and he got old. He tried to keep up on the repairs, but it got the best of him. Those we’re dark days on the iron. The roof leaked. The fence needed painting. The flowers died.

His house on the atom was empty for a good long while after he past away. Some blamed it on the market. Iron was expensive these day. Some said it was just too much work to repair that old run down house.

Margaret was different. She saw the beauty in the disrepair. And the iron actually appealed to her. She was tired of living in unstable atoms. It took its toll on her. The iron would be worth the extra money.

On a Tuesday in the Spring she bought the little green house on the iron. On Wednesday she planted some flowers. They were red.

This was by design.

Published in Fiction

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