As I was cleaning out the attic this weekend, I found all sorts of old junk that I had forgotten was even there. Of course, when I first stumbled upon my “treasures,” I wanted to keep everything I saw. Why would I have kept them in the first place? But, after pouring through box after box of broken toys and ripped parchment, I convinced myself that my “treasures” were ready for their final resting place. Being as this was Saturday and that trash pick-up day wasn’t until Wednesday, it required a trip to… the dump. Even now, I wince at the thought of having to brave the ever-present gloom that reigns there. The dump is a strange yet repulsive place… a place where people tend to bury the human spirit along with their trash.
From the main road, entering the dump looked like you were entering the grounds of a federal prison – and we’re not talking “Club Fed”. The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire invitingly curled around the top of each section. Following the slow procession of vehicles to the front gate, I noticed a man peeking through the blinds of a dirty office building. The building’s grey exterior was peeling away, the result of prolonged exposure to the toxic environment of hair spray cans, dirty baby diapers, and rotten banana peels. As soon as the man noticed me looking back, he hurriedly closed the blinds.
A man in filthy grey coveralls was standing out front to interrogate each passerby about their garbage. “Do you have any used batteries?” “Are you disposing of hazardous materials?” “Are you dumping used oil?” The list of questions went on and on for what felt like forever – until you were ready to surrender and admit to smuggling in a bag full of non-biodegradable Styrofoam containers just to make the man leave you alone. You’d even be willing to sign a confession in blood just to make this guy quit asking the never-ending parade of questions.
As I drove on into the interior sanctum of the dump, I noticed another unsightly building high upon a hill, overshadowing the recycling bins. This one had to be twenty-five feet tall and draped with rusted old sheet metal. The building looked like it had been rammed into by a wrecking ball at least a million times, and that it would collapse upon that million and first time, taking everything in it straight to hell. Trucks full of furniture, brush, and tree limbs were unloaded inside of the building – the dump’s own execution chamber. Within the walls of this building contained the largest crushing machine on the premises. When it activated, it made torturous scraping noised accompanied by splintering crackles. You could almost hear the death screams of each abandoned couch or chair as it was tossed into the machine like yesterday’s newspaper.
The stench was overpowering, unbearable – an odor of death mixed with the acrid aroma of despair. The wind stirred and brought along with it the stench of long-forgotten, abandoned, used baby diapers. I pulled my shirt up over my nose, trying to filter the bitterness through the lingering scent of fabric softener and my body spray, but it was too much for my crude attempt to hands.
I choked back a gag as I saw a fat rat fumbling with a half-rotted McDonald’s bag, oozing slimy aged lettuce and ketchup as it did. Weeds bordering the fence were littered with plastic wrappers, Styrofoam cups, and other non-biodegradable materials. Polluted water was seeping out of the dumpsters and had formed stagnate puddles infested with thousands of tiny, spasmodic worms.
I wondered how anyone could work in this foul environment and remain healthy, either physically or mentally. I also wondered how the county could afford to pay anyone enough to work in this harsh, alien terrain.
Most of the people at the dump all had the same blank expression on their faces, void of any emotion except perhaps disgust. They came in like robots, emptied their trash, and sped away as fast as possible without running someone else over.
There was, however, a sub-culture at the dump – those people disdainfully referred to as “Dumpster Divers” by most of the public. One of these dumpster divers, a man whose pants would not stay up and had dipped low enough to reveal a full inch and a half of his butt crack, was crawling through a dumpster full of old washers and dryers. At one point he surfaced, wiping his sweating face with one grimy hand, and paced back and forth furiously like he was contemplating the meaning of life… the world… and everything. Suddenly, he dove back in like he’d discovered the world’s greatest treasure at the bottom of this metallic coffin. No one paid attention to him… they all pretended his existence was nothing more than a mere shadow or trick of light.
At the next dumpster over, a young man was throwing away heavy, black plastic trash bags full of roofing shingles. The reason I know this? One of the bags caught the corner of the dumpster and ripped open while the young man was hurling it into the dumpster, causing shingles to rain down on the ground like torn piece of black hail. This caught my attention because he was standing almost directly under a sign that read, “ABSOLUTELY NO CONTRACTOR OR CONSTRUCTION DEBRIS.”
Within minutes, a man wearing a coffee-stained T-shirt and hat bearing the county’s logo approached the young offender. He asked, “Hey, sonny, whatcha got in them bags?”
The young man shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Just some old garbage.”
Knowing that the young man was lying, but not really caring enough to call him on it, the old man sneered a sinister yellow grin and said, “Them bags look awfully heavy, son. Are you sure you don’t have any body parts in there?”
They both laughed, and I decided to leave them alone. After all, my task was now finished.
So I left that eerie, malodorous place. I drove away from the dump as quickly as I could before I could bury my spirit – my very humanity – along with the trash I had dumped. The dump is death personified – a graveyard laden with the excesses of society. I ran away – far, far away – from the dump before it could sink its claws into me, infecting me with its decomposition and melancholy.
Showing posts with label slice of life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slice of life. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Free Write - A "Slice of Life"
An assignation at midnight, shadows wavering like black flames coming on a warm, flower-scented breeze. His laughter was rich and thick as chocolate – as if you could pull it from the air and eat it. His voice slithered into the room, low and full of promise… silken whispers in the small hours of the night. He walked into the room, as if the air boiled invisibly around him.
She stood there at the window, beautifully silhouetted in that pure white light spreading like ice over the darkness. Not beautiful and not supremely brilliant, she was filled with something that took the place of both qualities – something best described as a profound vivacity… a continual and sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through life. She was a sexual dessert of curves and points.
She whispered a greeting, a voice so close to silence that one must strain to hear it. That whisper hovered around his body like a line of warmth, a whisper of ghostly electricity.
He went to her, filled with images of his dreams. Dreams of kissing her so hard his mouth hurt; so soft his heart hurt; so long his neck hurt; so deep his throat hurt; and so completely that nothing hurts.
Standing behind her, nuzzling into her neck, this was a nocturnal visit filled with the promise of delicious physical intimacy. He savored the very sweet taste of saliva mixed with skin – skin unnaturally soft, like living velvet. She glowed like there was an ethereal light inside of her… a light only lit by the spark of his touch.
Turning to face him, her eyes drank him down like a parched man eyes a glass of water – eyes flaming with hunger, desire, and truth. Moving to his face, her eyes softened and grew liquid, a fervent passion flaring to life.
He kissed her, his lips soft as silk; gentle as rose petals; hot as the noonday sun. His tongue was a quick wetness exploring the inner reaches of her honeyed mouth. Passion roared in his ears like great waves that crash up and over the beach, never receding but only building more with each tick of the bright night’s clock.
Something inside him melted that hurt in an exquisite way. All his longings; all his dreams and sweet anguish; all the secrets held asleep within him came to life. At once everything was transformed and everything made sense. That first kiss united their souls, the spirits entwining in the very breath they breathed. And each exhalation was a baptism in fire.
He always knew that she could change minds and alter moods with just a touch, but now he knew that she could instantly take possession of a soul with just a kiss. For in that kiss, he lost his very existence.
With a voice soft, low, and more private than the setting, he whispered that he loved her. He stroked her face softly, knowing what his mother had meant when she had told his sister that love and electricity were one in the same. With every kiss, he felt a jolt in his soul; with every whisper and touch, he felt as if he’d been shocked into life.
They sighed together, an air of breathless intensity as the night turned to dawn. The coming sun was the first blue gaze of the day. This love they shared was much like a wild rose – beautiful and calm but willing to draw blood in its defense. Tested once by a merciless man to whom she’d been betrothed, he’d already shed that blood to keep her safe. Now, as they watched the sun spread its warming fingers across the sky like pale pastel ribbons, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure they would be together.
She stood there at the window, beautifully silhouetted in that pure white light spreading like ice over the darkness. Not beautiful and not supremely brilliant, she was filled with something that took the place of both qualities – something best described as a profound vivacity… a continual and sincere response to all that she encountered in her path through life. She was a sexual dessert of curves and points.
She whispered a greeting, a voice so close to silence that one must strain to hear it. That whisper hovered around his body like a line of warmth, a whisper of ghostly electricity.
He went to her, filled with images of his dreams. Dreams of kissing her so hard his mouth hurt; so soft his heart hurt; so long his neck hurt; so deep his throat hurt; and so completely that nothing hurts.
Standing behind her, nuzzling into her neck, this was a nocturnal visit filled with the promise of delicious physical intimacy. He savored the very sweet taste of saliva mixed with skin – skin unnaturally soft, like living velvet. She glowed like there was an ethereal light inside of her… a light only lit by the spark of his touch.
Turning to face him, her eyes drank him down like a parched man eyes a glass of water – eyes flaming with hunger, desire, and truth. Moving to his face, her eyes softened and grew liquid, a fervent passion flaring to life.
He kissed her, his lips soft as silk; gentle as rose petals; hot as the noonday sun. His tongue was a quick wetness exploring the inner reaches of her honeyed mouth. Passion roared in his ears like great waves that crash up and over the beach, never receding but only building more with each tick of the bright night’s clock.
Something inside him melted that hurt in an exquisite way. All his longings; all his dreams and sweet anguish; all the secrets held asleep within him came to life. At once everything was transformed and everything made sense. That first kiss united their souls, the spirits entwining in the very breath they breathed. And each exhalation was a baptism in fire.
He always knew that she could change minds and alter moods with just a touch, but now he knew that she could instantly take possession of a soul with just a kiss. For in that kiss, he lost his very existence.
With a voice soft, low, and more private than the setting, he whispered that he loved her. He stroked her face softly, knowing what his mother had meant when she had told his sister that love and electricity were one in the same. With every kiss, he felt a jolt in his soul; with every whisper and touch, he felt as if he’d been shocked into life.
They sighed together, an air of breathless intensity as the night turned to dawn. The coming sun was the first blue gaze of the day. This love they shared was much like a wild rose – beautiful and calm but willing to draw blood in its defense. Tested once by a merciless man to whom she’d been betrothed, he’d already shed that blood to keep her safe. Now, as they watched the sun spread its warming fingers across the sky like pale pastel ribbons, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure they would be together.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Mulrey Beryl
The little girl cringed in horror. The man who had taken her terrified her like nothing else had ever done. He was older, maybe 65. The liver spots on his arms and hands and his snowy white hair told her that. He had tiny crow’s feet around his eyes. But, the sunken, midnight eyes and blood-red lips screamed volumes – they were more than subtle indications that something was not quite right with this man.
He slowly crept to his basement. The smell of rot hit him, awakening a powerful hunger in his stomach. He prepared his instruments and got out the Polaroid camera he kept for occasions such as this. He walked over to the red-haired, eight-year old girl cowering in the corner and took her picture. The film shot out of the front of the camera. He walked over and placed it on a drying rack, then turned back towards the little girl, murder gleaming in his cold, dead eyes. He took a step towards her and she screamed.
“Go ahead and scream, bitch. There’s no one who can hear you. This basement is sound-proof. No one will hear you and no one will miss you.” He unlocked the cold, steel locks on the chains binding her to the wall. Carefully, so as not to bruise her, he yanked her off the floor by her hair and set her down on the cool, steel autopsy table with a thud. He strapped down the leather restraints around her arms and legs.
The dim light reflected off the scalpel as he lifted it off the tray. A scream escaped from the girl’s lips as the blade sliced cleanly into her flesh. Mulrey sliced out a huge chunk of flesh and stuffed it into his salivating mouth. He chewed incessantly, relishing the tangy flavour. His hunger grew more with each bite.
Quickly, he continued to slice off more and more flesh, making quick work of the small girl. When his hunger was finally satiated, he rinsed off his instruments. He threw the girl’s remains into a barrel of lye and rinsed off the table.
Picking up the photograph, he placed it on the wall with the others – just one more of the many victims of his unnatural hunger. He made sure everything was clean and put in its proper place before leaving. He then switched off the lights and went upstairs to watch Jeopardy, humming the Final Jeopardy music as he did.
He slowly crept to his basement. The smell of rot hit him, awakening a powerful hunger in his stomach. He prepared his instruments and got out the Polaroid camera he kept for occasions such as this. He walked over to the red-haired, eight-year old girl cowering in the corner and took her picture. The film shot out of the front of the camera. He walked over and placed it on a drying rack, then turned back towards the little girl, murder gleaming in his cold, dead eyes. He took a step towards her and she screamed.
“Go ahead and scream, bitch. There’s no one who can hear you. This basement is sound-proof. No one will hear you and no one will miss you.” He unlocked the cold, steel locks on the chains binding her to the wall. Carefully, so as not to bruise her, he yanked her off the floor by her hair and set her down on the cool, steel autopsy table with a thud. He strapped down the leather restraints around her arms and legs.
The dim light reflected off the scalpel as he lifted it off the tray. A scream escaped from the girl’s lips as the blade sliced cleanly into her flesh. Mulrey sliced out a huge chunk of flesh and stuffed it into his salivating mouth. He chewed incessantly, relishing the tangy flavour. His hunger grew more with each bite.
Quickly, he continued to slice off more and more flesh, making quick work of the small girl. When his hunger was finally satiated, he rinsed off his instruments. He threw the girl’s remains into a barrel of lye and rinsed off the table.
Picking up the photograph, he placed it on the wall with the others – just one more of the many victims of his unnatural hunger. He made sure everything was clean and put in its proper place before leaving. He then switched off the lights and went upstairs to watch Jeopardy, humming the Final Jeopardy music as he did.
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