Human Garbage

It looks; at them, and blinks.

It sees; a black mass slumped, occasionally moving, against an alley wall; steam rises from the mass; bags of glistening rubbish piled waist high all around; shadows, grainy, flickering shadows; time stamp, zero, one.

It watches; the mass split into two momentarily; a long coat separate; a thick white leg rise, a long heel on the end of it; a skirt hitched up; a head fall back, revealing a woman’s face, straight blonde hair, open mouth; the shadowed figure attached to her tug at their belt; time stamp, zero, one.

It surveys; the industrial bins next to them, that obscures the couple from view of the busy street just yards away but just outside of the field of view; inky thin puddles reflecting the light of the streets neon, the passing double deckers, taxis, and pulsing emergency services; time stamp, zero, one.

It observes; the still shadowed figure lean hard on to the woman; an arm move from her waist, then down behind her thigh; the figure pull at her leg, forcing it to go higher, higher still, then strain at a limit; a struggle; the woman push back; a cloud of exhalation in the freezing night air.

It records; the shadowed figure weigh up the moment, then grab the blonde by the shoulders, spin her around; the face of the man now lit by the sky’s full-moon, middle aged, balding, a flapping black coat, his trousers compressed around this knees; the woman, arms pulled behind her back, shoulders forced low, chin down, legs apart; wrestling; time stamp, zero, one.

It captures; two people struggle; thrash, kick, pull; part of the frame freeze; the man stop, stare at a dark recess set into the wall opposite, the doorway within; the man vomit suddenly over the back of the woman, push her away, pull up his trousers; his haste; the blonde’s confusion, then anger; her stumble into the middle of the alley; him run; her follow, arms outstretched, silent screams of anger; time stamp, zero, one, zero, one.

It films; an alleyway remain unchanged for three hours, fifty seven minutes longer; time stamp, zero, one.

It tracks; the passage of night to day; the early morning sun reflect now, between the empty cans and spilled refuse, in the standing water. time stamp, zero, one, zero.

It witnesses; a refuse truck back into the alley; three figures lazily empty the industrial bins, throw the bags dumped against the walls into the back of the vehicle; the truck move closer, stop outside the doorway; the figures empty the doorway; one stop abruptly, jump back, point; the others stop, lean into the doorway, two move away; the widest figure remain, pull out a phone, talk; the two figures move to the side of the truck; another figure exit, lean into the doorway, then get back into the vehicle and drive three of them away; bags still left to be collected; the wide man remain behind, all the time on his phone; time stamp, zero, one, zero, one.

It registers; a policeman approach, talk to the wide man, lean in to the doorway, speak on radio; time stamp, zero, one;

It logs; more police; a white lean-to erected over the doorway, figures in white overalls file in and out, cameras flash; figures scour the alleyway; time stamp, zero, one, zero, one;

It views; a black van reverse in, two figures exit, open the back doors, and disappear into the lean to; the same figures emerge carrying a black bag; load it into the van, then drive away; all of the figures disperse; the lean-to taken down; the alley empty; police tape dance from the brickwork; time stamp, zero, one, zero, one, zero, one.

It archives; two figures, under heavy layers of clothing, shuffle down the alley, one pushing a heaped shopping trolley; them approach the doorway; one produce a small bunch of flowers, place it in the doorway; both stand, arms around each other; time stamps…

Editorial

Okay, so looking at the first line of this post I’ve might have technically broken my own rules (and it only took me six posts to do it!) Well, so be it, I like this slight variation on the theme and for me it’s still enough within the parameters to qualify. And they’re my rules anyway. So there.

This story – from the perspective of an impassive CCTV camera – is one of the first pieces I thought of writing for this blog. Again, it’s one of those set-ups that could’ve easily spiralled off in any one of three hundred and sixty directions, but, as ever, my mind reverted to the dark side and to social injustice. Highlighting the plight of western society with macabre tales, like a poor man’s cross between Ken Loach and Sheersmith & Pemberton!