Trash Man

Imran drove the buggy carefully along the sidewalk, not wanting to tip the rows of trash bins that it was carrying. It was like any ordinary day, he was on his rounds, switching out trash bins from each of the six rubbish chutes that were present in each block of apartments. He was in charge of four blocks, which meant that he had to make at least eight trips to shuffle the six empty bins that he was always moving around.

Six empty in the beginning, switch out the bins that were in the first block of apartments, empty the bins back at the neighbourhood dump, then switch out the now empty bins with the next block and so on. It wasn't the pleasantest of work, but there was a steady income that Imran was thankful about. He had long been used to the sour stench of trash from these bins, so even that wasn't that big a deterrent.

Unless of course when it rained.

Imran stopped the buggy at the last chute on his final block, parking such that the empty bin was nearest to the hatch that opened into the rubbish chute. He got off the buggy and reached for the key that he had tethered to his trousers' belt hoop and unlocked the padlock that held the hatch bolt in place. It wasn't a particularly secure lock considering that all the chutes of the group of four blocks could be opened with the same key, but it had the deterrent of preventing people from reaching in to the chute and messing with the trash. The padlock was unlocked, the bolt pulled back and the hatch was opened. The familiar stench of organic rubbish wafted for freedom through the hatch.

Imran dragged out the bin. It was relatively full, and was starting to overflow some. He picked up his manual compressor tool and started to push down on top of the pile to keep the contents from flying about on transportation.

A sudden crying sound made him stop in his tracks, his blood running cold. He peered into the bin and saw a bag full of blood, with a tiny foot sticking out.

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Mar-2014 20:55:38)