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My Trash Heap

November 17, 2012

I sit on my trash heap, the rain pours down around me through the narrow gap between the roofs of the two buildings I live beneath. I stare at the bank where I used to work; I notice the comings and goings of the customers through the rotating doorway. I smell the mix of rotten food and the potent cooking from the vent pipes above my head. The smells reflect the feelings I have been harbouring for the past six months; the glorious aroma of nostalgia, and the stench of betrayal. It’s now I notice one of my former colleagues coming out of the bank’s doors, probably off for lunch. He stops as he notices me, wait, has he spotted me from that distance? My question is answered as he begins to approach me with a look of confusion on his face, which quickly turns to pity as his suspicions are confirmed. He asks me what I am doing siting on a pile of trash. I reply, stating that was unable to pay my rent after they fired me. He offers me some money, which I refuse. He offers me some lodgings, again, I refuse. He asks me why I won’t accept his help; I reply saying he was the one who reported me for stealing from the bank. He apologises for what he did but said he felt that he had to report his suspicion. I reply saying that although it was proved otherwise I was still let go to make the company look better. He apologized again, this time I say that I don’t need his pity. He offers again, almost pleadingly. Though I now wander whether he’s trying to help me for my benefit… or for his own conscious. I think it’s the latter and with that I lunge at his throat and wrestle him to the floor, putting all my weight upon his neck. He struggles fiercely, his arms and legs flaying around; no one is watching. His thrashing begins to slow and after a few seconds desists completely. I stare at his dead eyes, the protruding tongue… and then I sit down, sit back onto the trash heap, MY trash heap. I sit quietly and look upon my work. All that came to my head is what I said before his end: “I don’t need your pity”.

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