#FFT 29 : The Gate Still Squeaked

The gate still squeaked. “Dang it.”

I swung that sucker back and forth, and in response, it sang a kind of song. “Shreek, clack, tock, tock, tock, tock, tock, groan, pop, pop, pop, ting!”

“Dang it,” I grumbled. I took the can of WD-40, and sprayed the hinges again, until they shined in the sunlight. Then, once more, I swung the gate around.

Once more the gate sang an infuriating song. “Shh, skreee, tick, tick, tock, mum, mum, mum, mum, gronk!”

I threw the can of WD-40 into the backyard, where it collided with the railing of the deck, “Clack!”

“Useless junk!”

I punched the gate, causing a loud “Whack!” followed by another song, “skronk, tack, tack, tack, tick, wonk!”, as it swung away from my fist. I felt splinters from its wood embed themselves in my knuckles. I looked at the back of my hand, and saw bits of wood sticking out from the knuckles of my index and ring fingers. I watch blood start leaking out around the wooden stakes.

I growled, and ripped the splinters from my knuckles. “Son of a…” I let the thought trail off, knowing I’d caused the damage to my knuckles myself. It certainly wasn’t the gates fault. Or the WD-40s fault.

I looked up at the clouds in the sky, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Another lesson in patience.”

I let the knuckles bleed, and I went to the garage to get the quart of lawn mower oil. SAE 30. I went back to the fence, and dumped motor oil on its two hinges. Oil dripped from the hinges to the ground. I didn’t care.

I swung the fence back and forth, working the oil into the metal joints. Gradually the song of the gate faded. “Skree. Skraw. Skree. Skraw. Swee. Swee. Free. Fraw. Zee. Zee. Zee. See. See.” The noise faded away, until the gate swung silently.

I leaped in the air, “Yes! Take that, you! Ha!”

I closed the gate, put the oil back in the garage, left the useless can of WD-40 in the back yard somewhere, and went inside, proud to have successfully completed the task of silencing the gate. Inside, I washed away the blood on my knuckles. I left the wounds open to the air, wearing them with pride.

That’s when she got home. She parked in the driveway. I heard her heels clacking on the sidewalk, as she headed for the gate, to take a walk through her veggie gardens. She got to the gate, and opened it.

And the frackin’ thing said, “Grooooonk! Tang! Tang! Tang!”

430 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Week 29 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

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