AntipodeanSF - "Waste Disposal" by Trost

Trost is an emerging Aussie writer dedicated to concocting disturbing stories tinged with a combination of mystery and familiarity. He is a member of the Australian Horror Writers Association and his fiction has been published by Brimstone Press (Black Box anthology) as well as online zines such as DemonMinds and Microhorror. He currently lives in France where he teaches English to adults, so if you meet a Frenchie with a 'strine accent it's probably his doing.

"The ASL robotic arm seized the plastic rubbish bin before I had time to realize what was happening. Although I couldn't see anything, the sound of the arm's hydraulics and my gut feeling told me that I was moving upwards. This sensation, combined with the stench of rotting meat and god knows what else, made me want to throw up. I almost did.

As difficult as it was to believe, I quickly understood where I was and where I was going. How I came to be in such a disgusting situation remained well beyond my comprehension. I had gone out for a night on the town with Jim and Greg and should have woken up safe and sound in bed with nothing more than a slight headache and a dry mouth.

My weight shifted. I was upside down, and then I fell. For a fleeting moment I saw daylight, and then I was in darkness again. My neck hadn't been broken in the fall because I was conscious and able to move my limbs. Stinky rubbish was both under and on top of me and I felt like I would suffocate because of the crushing weight of the waste and because my struggling lungs were full of its thick stench.

I pulled myself towards the surface of the rubbish. My entire body was soaked, stained and covered with all kinds of filth from oily rags to bloodied tampons. I tried not to think about the nauseating items of urban waste that stuck to me in the dark interior of the rubbish truck. It felt as though my face was cut but I couldn't know for sure. Maybe I had brushed it against a jagged tin-lid, maybe something worse. I hoped it wasn't too deep and that I wasn't losing too much blood.

I heard something outside, a voice, and then the truck moved. I tried to crawl or swim or whatever you would call it towards one side of the huge container so that I could bang my fists against the wall and try to attract somebody's attention. I struggled to do so, and just as I was making some progress the vehicle stopped again and I heard the grind of the robotic arm moving. I knew what would happen next but there was nothing I could do to avoid it. I was about to have a load of putrid rubbish rained down onto my already soiled and injured head. Decomposing food, glass jars and bottles that should have been put into the recycling bin, babies' nappies loaded with green shit, condoms charged with some fat pig's semen...

This would happen to me over and over again until I reached the rubbish tip and I didn't know when that would be or even if I would survive that long!"

Callum took another sip of his cold beer and looked at his brother.

"So, what do you think it means?"

"Well, I'm no dream interpreter, but I think it means that you're probably not happy with your new job. Maybe the waste disposal industry just isn't for you."