The Heavy Hasp

I walked slowly along the damp flagstones toward the dark wooden shed at the edge of the yard. At the door, a thick iron latch hung loose against the splintered pine. I stopped, lowered my machete flat against my thigh, and reached out with my left hand to touch the metal hasp. The surface was rough with flaking brown rust. With slow, even force, I lifted the heavy loop and slotted it over the staple. A deep, solid clonk settled into the wood. I pressed the iron once more to test its hold, let out a slow, quiet breath through my mask, and stood watching the secure latch in the dim evening light.