Iron Grip

Dawn broke against the exterior boundary. A thick metal clothespin stood clamped hard onto the balcony railing. Rust along the spring. Solid resistance. I stepped forward and gripped the steel prongs with both hands. Braced my boots against the damp iron bar. Pushed down with all my weight. The coiled spring groaned, fighting back, but the jaws parted a fraction of an inch with a sharp squeak. Held it open against the tension. It wanted to snap shut. I didn't let it. Controlled the mechanism, then released it on my terms. Perimeter fortified.