The Trash Picker

According to legends, on the day the scorching summer ended two thousand twenty-five years ago, a powerful maiden brought forth gigantic islands in the sky, and the God with Three Persona filled it with humans completely unclothed.

If he would be given a chance to speak with Keith, one of the God's Persona, Eric would humbly request He sent the filthy humans back to where they came from two thousand twenty-five years ago because fuck humanity. They're the reason for global warming.

"Damn tourists. Can't even dispose their trash to its proper place," Eric grumbled as he extended the trash picker to nab an empty water bottle on the grass and put it in a black trash bag. Throughout the day, he collected at least fifty cans and bottles at the Oakwood Park.

Eric rumpled his face in disgust after finding more garbage piled at the bottom of a century-old oak tree. Human's irresponsibility towards Mother Nature astounded him and it tempted Eric to commit mass murder. Like fucking hell, the trash cans were just five meters away, goddammit!

With an exasperated sigh, Eric dragged his feet to a nearby bench beneath the oak tree, taking shade from the glare of the mid-afternoon sun after a long day of picking trashes. He pulled the rubber band holding his shoulder-length raven hair in place, letting it flow into the light breeze.

No. Eric Ravangale wasn't a garbage man. Although bringing the recyclable trash he collected to the junk shop could earn him some cash, he's not doing it for a living. It just repulsed him to see a place like the Oakwood Park littered with garbage.

Okay, fine. Money was scarce for a musician like him these days. But that's because his grandfather was being an ass. He's been using his influence as the Count, who governed the Region of Aereo to pressure him into coming back to their mansion.

Like hell, he'd go back. The old man would only send him to a military school where he'd be forced to cut his hair, wear the same outfit like everyone else, and deal with shitty superiors. He'd rather pick garbage his entire life than deal with all that shit. That's his big brother's thing, not his.

They called it a teenager's rebellious phase, but to Eric, it's a battle of will and pride. And he's not about to lose to the old man. The Count can corner him to the edge of a cliff, but Eric would gladly jump just to prove a point. He won't let anyone take away his freedom to choose what he wanted to do in life; not his grandfather, not the society, and not even the king himself.

"Come home soon, Arman," Eric said, throwing his head back and settled his gaze to a nightingale perched on a branch, singing. If he could only be as free as the nightingale, he wouldn't mind being a bird. "He'd stop picking on me if you're here. You are, after all, Grandpa's favorite."

The nightingale gave a sudden strangled chirp, startling Eric at the sight of the poor bird in the mouth of a brown snake. Okay, he didn't want to be a nightingale anymore. If he would become a bird, maybe he should be an eagle. At least snakes and other predators wouldn't prey on him in the wild.

Hold up! Why was he thinking about birds and snakes and predators?

Eric pulled his stare away from the snake before he became its next meal. Tying his hair back in a ponytail, he grabbed the trash picker and stood. "I should check near the river."

"Daniel, stop!" a high-pitched voice yelled from the distance. "Let's not get into fight!"

"Don't get in my way, Migs! I'm not letting this go!"

The noise pulled Eric out of his musings. He turned around to see some teenagers being heckled by a group of older guys. A brunet kid sprawled on the grass, cupping his bruised face. In front of him stood his two friends like barriers against leering tigers.

No. More like a brawny kid who can pack a punch with his guardian angel holding him back because that golden hair gave a glint of something holy. Or maybe it's just the reflection of the sun on his blond hair.

Ah, friendship. How wonderful.

Eric shrugged and continued his trek to the riverside, sticking a wireless earbud to one ear. It's best not to get involved. A brawl between teenagers were a normal occurrence. Even he would get into one from time to time. But now's not the time. He had garbage waiting for him to pick up.

"You're not going to intervene?" said a playful but masculine voice.

Eric paused and gave a side-glance to a man with ginger hair holding an old camera. He had an interesting grin on his face, but his gaze centered on the fight brewing on the open field, so Eric didn't know if he was talking to him or that other guy to his right with a headphone coiled around his neck.

"Aren't you Count Enrico's grandson? I didn't know you would turn a blind eye to a case of bullying."

Oh, so he was talking to him. Eric's eyes flickered to the open field just as a series of scream rang out. Daniel, the teen wearing a red sleeveless shirt, finally threw the first punch.

"Daniel!"

Flicking his dark fringe to the side, Eric turned to Mr. Gingerhead and raised the stick he's using to pick up garbage. "What do you want me to do? Stop them with a garbage picker? Why don't you stop them instead?"

"I would," he said, then captured a photo of the fist fight. "But I'm just a bored tourist trying to find something entertaining. Why don't you? You're from the family who's in charge here."

Eric's emerald eyes narrowed with suspicion. "For a bored tourist, you sure know a lot."

"Oh, not really. I've only done my research of the place before visiting." Mr. Gingerhead continued clicking away photographs as he talked. "And I'd say, there are quite interesting stories in the Cloud."

"Whatever. Call the police if you want to stop the fight. That's not my responsibility. I'd rather not meddle with someone else's affair." Eric fished out his C-Scroll and pressing a button on the black device. Its flimsy screen ejected from its case and flashed the time and date-4:12 PM, Leo 27, C-2025. Four more days before the month of Virgo.

Mr. Gingerhead chuckled and moved the focus of his camera lens to Eric as he walked past the suspicious man, its flash startling him. "You're an interesting fellow like the rumors said."

"Interesting? That's funny."

Aristocrats, including his grandfather, hated him for his roguish behavior, while the commoners found his ideals insulting. Disappointment trailed him like his shadow after he failed the society's expectation of him to follow his brother's step. They revered Arman like a hero, while he was the failed, rebellious grandson. But guess what? He gave zero flying fuck about their opinions.

Eric halted from his steps when a blur of red zoomed past him, followed by a crash and a pained groan. Garbage scattered in the park as Daniel pushed himself from the ground. When the lid of the trash can rolled and bumped against his black boots, Eric's grip on the trash picker tightened.

"I'm a Military Reservist. You think you can pick a fight with me and get away with it?" the man said as he approached Daniel, brushing his fingers to the questionable stain on his white shirt.

"Knock off his teeth, Sai! That will teach him a lesson!" one of his lackeys hollered whilst they cornered Daniel's friends, ready to attack if they interfered.

Eric didn't know what caused the fight, and he's not intrigued enough to ask. In fact, he should continue his trek down to the riverside and never bothered to watch. However, there's something in the situation that irked him.

Perhaps it's the garbage scattered across the grass. Yeah, that was it. Just looking at the mess they created popped a vein in Eric's forehead. Like fuck, he spent his entire day to clean up the park, damn it!

"Hey! Can you not make a mess in here? If you wanted to fight, do it somewhere else," Eric said, halting the man called Sai on his feet. His speech painted an amuse smile across the photographer's face.

Sai threw him a glance. Taut muscles bulged from his white shirt, and it told Eric this man was at the peak of his physical strength. His eyes lit up in recognition before his lips morphed into a sneer. "Stay out of this, raven boy."

Stop him? What could Eric possibly do to stop a man who can squeeze the living daylights out of him with his fingers?

Oh. Right. He was his grandfather's punching bag since he's a little kid, and he sparred countless of times with his brother before his disappearance. What difference would it make if he fought these me who looked like they torment kids as a hobby?

"He's right, you know?" said one of his lackeys with frizzly hair, slinging an arm to his shoulder. "Just pick up garbage like you always do and don't butt into our business. It's got nothing to do with you."

Eric's nose twitched as the stench of sweat hit him like a ten-wheeler truck and shrugged off the arm on his shoulder with a disgusted expression. "Get your hands off me."

"Oi! Oi! What's—"

"You're right. I should just pick garbage like I always do." Eric sucked in a deep breath and freed his hair from its constraints. It swayed wildly like silks of the approaching darkness, along with his black coat that fluttered in the strong afternoon breeze. A smirk stretched the corner of Eric's mouth. "Too bad, you happened to be one of them."

The man beside him barely had time to react as he struck his nose with the trash picker.