Rust on Time

The gate was carefully painted in shades of rust and blue, and then, scrubbed with sandpaper. It looked like what it did ten years ago. One of us had a few snapshots of the house.

Pa was being released from the mental hospital today. He had cracked up, when he could not pay the mortgage, and the house was about to be auctioned. We had planned everything carefully, to put the house back in its previous shape.

Ma was in bed, gripped with fear of the scene after a week. We did not have the heart to tell Pa that the house had been rented by us for a week. Our present abode was in the sheds outside – the ones where our staff used to live.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner #Week 34