This fifty-word story (ZapFic50) was written using 
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The key to my father's shed feels much smaller than I remember.
The lock - rust-red but well-oiled - clicks.
The door swings open.
Tools neatly ranged, boxes of nails and screws clearly labeled.
A note, scrawled in his familiar hand.
"All yours now, son. Please, don't make a mess."
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