Trash

Disclaimer: Me don't own!

A/N: Written at 4 in the morning out of complete randomness—the best conditions for writing any story, surely. XD

There is a reason he sleeps in trashcans, and it is not what most people assume. The average person, he knows, thinks he sleeps in them for safety, and that makes sense. He is a hunted man after all and garbage cans are enclosed, safe but smelly, a place where no self respecting person—which everyone working for GeneCo thought they were—would want to check. It is a place under the radar, a place where sometimes he is free from the constant pressuring of the souls turned a liquid blue by Zydrate.

In the dark garbage beds, the Zydrate truly does glow like nightlight. From the crevices of his fingers, the holes in his pockets it reveals to him the place he seeks refuge every night, shows every speck of filth and mold and everything in between that made a garbage can the least likely place for a human to ever want to inhabit.

But who, in this world, can consider themselves a human anymore?

In the burning blue glow, in the flashes of scalpels everything became something from a fragment of something else—something new, artificial, fake. There were no humans left, just genetic beasts who played their own god on the surgical lights, and with the devils loans became someone that should have never been.

And he contributes to it. A benefactor of the beasts, it is only natural for him to consider himself a beast on some level. And only beasts can sleep in caves, with the glow of their shame, their life, tucked neatly in their pockets, their hands, a needle in the side.

And in the filth he always just closes his eyes rolls over, content, hideous, what this world has made him.

If the world was made of filth, why not embrace it?