Hot Garbage

A teenage boy was sitting on a bench, watching the sunset. The sun sure took a while to set, he thought, reaching into the bag beside him and tossing a single popcorn piece into his mouth. He was growing slightly impatient – after all, he had been sitting here for slightly over an hour, and nothing eventful has occurred. Another piece was forcefully ejected out of the bag, much to its resistance. It’s a little hard to get those little ones out of the bag when there are only a couple left, he thought, swallowing the last one and replacing it with its younger and more juicy counterpart. He wondered what the journey of these pieces was. How they ended up in a factory, then in a store, and then beside him. He obviously knew what happened next, but it was a fate too cruel for even the most atrocious criminals. Humans are basically parasites, he thought, feeding on the life energy of things around them. But he didn’t mind. His hand reached for a new sacrifice to the eldritch being that was his grumbling stomach, but alas, every little piece had fled, knowing that their destiny was to float in the sewers for all eternity. Mumbling something to himself, he swiftly swiped the bag off the bench, peering into it, and indeed, he had engulfed every single poor little cornling, every member of the cornkind, now extinct, residing half-dead in his intestine.

He was growing tired of the increasing nothingness in his hometown. Sighing, the boy got up, crumpling the previous habitat of the whateverus mays. Eyes darting left and right, he finally located his target, a trash can, four meters away. There was no reason not to try and throw it, no negative outcome, as even a failed throw would simply be solved by him walking up to it, picking it back up, and simply placing it in the can, something he would do anyway if he never threw in the first place. In other words, he just really wanted to throw the bag into the trash and came up with six different reasons to justify it. Left and right, left and right, make sure nobody is watching you, he thought, not that it’d make a difference, he thought, because it’s not like he cared, he thought. Scanning the surroundings, he located a single stray dog, not an adversary, thankfully, and could be dealt with if it came to it, although he’d rather not, a pack of cigarettes on the ground, potential danger, there were two still in it, and could be used to damage the atmosphere, or worse, his own lungs, and a person. Not as interesting as the other things, but people had their benefits, even if they said things you don’t like and smelled worse than most dogs and cigarette packs. This wasn’t normal human behavior to him, at least not from his “research”, people didn’t come to this park after the sun had set. Looking up, he realized, the sun had still not set, he had been had, and the person was heading in his direction.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” a feminine voice emerged, evidently coming from this newly identified person. Surprised, the boy swiftly threw the deformed bag in the general direction of the can, missing it, but he didn’t care about that anymore, and instead, reaching into his jacket, pulled out another crumpled object, this time a piece of paper. Was this girl insane, he asked himself, skipping straight to engaging conversation with him. She didn’t even let him analyze her patterns and behavior, and instead just started tossing around “hi”s and “hey”s, it’s asinine, it’s unnatural, and he wasn’t used to it. “Can you hear me?” she asked again, running towards him. The boy’s eyes quickly ran across the paper, mumbling something to himself, remember to stay calm, remember not to freak out, you’re a human, too, so there’s nothing to worry about, as he crumpled it again and shoved it into its previous domicile. He turned around, deciding that he could at least prepare for a couple seconds before his impending doom, and so he looked at her. Yes, she was a girl, and it was obvious from her voice, she was short and skinny, and a pretty fast runner. She had short brown hair, wavy, but not curly, a wavy bob cut, and wavy bangs that almost obscured her eyes, and wore a large hat with a ribbon on it, a light dress colored light yellow, and shoes, still yellow but of a darker hue. She approached closer and closer by the second, as he could make her face out slightly better, hazel eyes, a concerned look, and she was sweating profusely. Judging by the sweating, she wasn’t from here, or rather, that’s what he wanted to think. It was fairly obvious that she was from somewhere in England, not from any Holmesian deductions, but rather by her nonexistent “r”s and oddly pronounced “a”, oddly to him, at least.

What struck him as odd weren’t any of the details above, not her appearance, not her country of origin, but simply because he had never seen her prior. He had logs on practically everybody in the town, he had studied them enough to feel comfortable to guess their responses to his questions, and yet, here she was, an unpredictable variable, a wild card. There was no way that she was someone he didn’t account for, so she must be the coveted new kid, the rumored savior of this town, slayer of the collective boredom that has been coalescing in every single person here for the last eternity. “Why aren’t you answering me? Please? Hello?” she paused in front of him, waving her hand at his face, as he suddenly snapped out of it, blinking a few times. “I have to be home by sunset, and… Well, it’s already basically sunset, isn’t it? B-but I’ve tried to find the exit, and… There’s no exit! I think I’m trapped, and I need to find a way out, and you seem to be the kind of bloke who knows things like that- Uh… Not that I’m calling you a nerd, really! I just thought that, since you’ve probably been here for a while- Not that I’d know! You might be new, but you don’t seem like you are, and… and…” she paused, trying to catch her breath, then looked up, letting out a nervous giggle. The boy, doing his usual spacing out routine, squinted slightly.

“I… I guess I should have introduced myself first, right? Margaret Langley, but nobody calls me Margaret, it’s just May, or, well, nobody called me Margaret, because, I mean, they’re still in London, and, uh, yeah.” she stopped herself, quicker this time, placing one hand on the back of her neck. “Miles.” he finally spoke, reaching out his hand, which she looked at for a few seconds, then, dawning upon her, she quickly reached her hand out too, completing the sacred ritual of the handshake.