by Jon Pelletier

Created on: August 15, 2009

Iron! The cats growled. They were hungry, mangy and matted. They fought amongst themselves as I sat resting against a brick with the bottom half of a broom and two thirds of a rake. I have no food, I said, I don't look for it like you. The tomcat cursed at me, No, Iron, tell our kittens your story, would you please? I looked at the tomcat, a cat that would rarely speak nicely to anyone. Well, you did ask like that, I said. With this, I began with a shout.

Criminal! She screamed towards the closed door. She seemed to over-react, I thought. I was dropped on the cloth-covered table and she stomped towards the only entryway. I sat and glanced out the window seeing a picturesque winter evening. The snow fell lightly towards the white world. There was a layer of frost from the fog that morning and the window was beginning to trace tiny fractals of ice up the panes. She opened the door and stood looking at a large man with a beard

She looked him up and down and he asked, Why the scream, dear? She smiled and touched his arm, The damned iron just short circuited. He laughed, smiling at the reaction of his loving wife and asked, But your OK, no shock? She looked him straight in the eye. I may need a new one, I suppose. Throw it in the trash with the rest, the truck comes tomorrow. He walked into the room and lifted me up by my old black handle. He brought me downstairs and through their house to the garage. He lifted the lid of the trash bin and set me on top.

I sat in that bin all night in the dark. I sat and thought of better days, when I had worked perfectly. Why couldn't they repair me? No use, I thought. It was simply time to replace me. I'm sure if you asked them they could list reasons why a new iron would be a much better way to spend their money. I'm sure the price of a repair on a seven-year-old iron like myself is not equal to my worth. Money better spent on one of the new irons, with all the unnecessary dials and that.

The bin was pulled out to the end of the driveway on a busy street the next morning. The vehicles moved past the house carefully as it was very cold and the road had a layer of ice on it. Quite quickly after I had arrived at the street a large truck came and stopped next to the corner. I heard the bins next to me emptied into the side of the truck. The man then grabbed my bin. He pulled the lid off and poured the contents into truck. I sat surrounded by wrappers with an old coffeepot to my left.

The coffeepot looked at me. I looked

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