The Dustbin's Lament

[bardiphouka]

For brigits_flame All Stars
Prompt: Reprisal
Warnings: Oh the violence and the angst.
Word Count:1130
A/N:As you have heard, this is the result of a side challenge between keppiehed and I. I was not as responsible as she claims. I merely mentioned about the testimony of my dustbin in determining how much rain I had gotten. One thing of course led to another, as it does, and the side challenge came about. Now, as it happens in this case, she is the better writer but she is sane, which might give me the edge.


They sit in rows of soft plastic and shining metal. Late at night, when the lights are dim and the only movement the occasional mouse scattering among the snack rows, they listen to the old dustbin who sits in the corner and tells stories of their kind.

The old bin rustles his plastic liner when the mouse gets to close and then begins to tell his story for tonight. And while each story is different, they always start the same.

AH- TA-Lee he begins. Many are we here tonight, although few who were here not long ago. And may most of you find a journey awaits you soon. It is a wide world out there and many are the stories of it that make there way back. And this is one of them.

Once or twice upon a time ago it was, so long ago that all the dustbins were metal, many of them still bearing dents from the wars of the Persians and the Pomeranians. While not as famous as The Awefull Battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles, it was still a dreadful time for an honest dustbin to out and about.



Not too far from the scenes of that bitter conflict, it is said there lived a small container, not more than 40 litres perhaps.

And given in his care was the trash of a single woman in a small cabin, one of frugal means. Her offerings were few and mostly clean. And he grew to love the feel of her hands as she, in his mind, caressed his sides on Collection day.

It is said in the annals that she kept him cleaner than any other dustbin has been kept clean, and the other bins would look on him with envy. But it was not their envy which he was interested in but her admiration, the love he could feel as her fingers would slide through his handles. Late at night he would sing the insects away, and his vibrations would have the mice slither back to the fields. But nothing stays the same, remember that.

Another person came into the house, larger and rougher who filled the dustbin with strange items and with a lack of care. It seemed that he became less and less important. Stains began accumulating and even the occasional dent. Sometimes she would not even take him out and bring him back. The new person would, with hands that barely fit his handles and who would clatter him carelessly.

Finally came the last affront. You youngsters have not been out in the world yet. There are places to be and there are places not to be. You there...stop gossiping with the kitchen utensils and pay attention. And one of those places not to be is the outdoor barbeque area. Especially back in those days, before recycling when we were expected to take everything rejected without so much as a by your leave.

Yet this is where he found himself, filled to overflowing with beer cans and bones, attracting bugs and flies who once would never have dared wander in and out of him with such impunity. Spots of grease began to accumulate in layers. He, who had once been kept clean on such a regular basis that he was more spotless than any of you untried fellows there. Yes, I can see the hint of chocolate on where someone threw a wrapper. Not an auspicious beginning lad, not at all.

Worse of all for our hero, was that he thought he could begin to detect a spot of rust. Yes rust. You have no idea how easy our life has become in the modern era of plastic and stainless steel. Once a bit of rust got hold of you it was nigh unto over. Soon big gaping sores would develop and the end was close. He, who had been respected, who had been loved. And who had loved in return. He could take no more. And in a fit of jealousy he decided to take her with.

Calm down, calm down. I know this is not how it is supposed to be, but none of us have ever lived in homes, so it is not ours to judge. He was desperate, and blinded by what he thought was love.

One windy day he heard her giant bin start. You may not remember your arrival, but you will discover that humans offer themselves in giant bins that can move freely. And if the giant bin is pleased it lets them leave until the next time.

Our dustbin gathered his strength and soon felt the wind gather him in. He swore he would stop her or perish in the process.


Which is pretty much what he did. The perishing part that is. Now I shan't lie to you, I have never actually talked to one of the giant bins. But I have noticed there is something terribly wrong and evil about them. There is something about them that takes a cruel, cruel delight in mangling a normal dustbin.

As he attempted to stop her as she moved off, the dustbin rolled under the giant bin, but found himself flattened totally.

The giant bin rolled for a moment and then stopped. Mangled, flattened as he was, he felt the flush of success. His act or reprisal, although painful had brought them back together. Imagine his surprise when, without a single tear, she merely slid him into one of the large containers on the street.

This was something he had not expected. The larger bin greeted him, pried just enough so that he could accept meager offerings the big moving bin would give him as an offering.

That night the male person drove up, taking a large new dustbin out of the boot of his personal moving bin. A few hours later there were noises in the house and then he came out with several large trash bags. The next morning the big moving bin took both dust bins as an offering. One of the bags slid toward him and he got just a hint of an offering. And it tasted much like her. The next day the male took the dustbin to work just in case strangers might want to look at it. It was the first time he used it, but they say it was not the last.

Now, settle in and get some rest. You need to feel the spiffiness tomorrow if you want to move on from here. For those of you still hear tomorrow night, we shall talk about Beowulf's dustbins. You will like it, it has dragons.

The old dustbin wrapped himself in the darkness, dreaming of the trips and offerings that had been made, over and over again.