Bottles and Cans

The sun had risen and the faint traces of sunlight peeked through the cracks of the skyscrapers and the floating plazas to finally seep into the slums.

It was now morning, not that anyone would be able to distinguish that.

It was just as dark, and the rain had stopped overnight, the only traces of the storm that had occurred the previous night were the flooded potholes that littered the streets.

Trying to make the most out of what little resources they possessed, some members knelt over the potholes, scooping out the water and furiously placing it in the buckets.

Peeking out from his 'door' that was a flimsy shower curtain, Ambitan stumbled outside.

Yesterday night there had been the sounds of rocket thrusters again, probably just the regular shipment of garbage.

After all the garbage from those floating plazas had to go somewhere right?

As long as one didn't look down upon the pile of sins they floated above, these plazas were practically a paradise.

As they say, keep the trash out of sight, out of mind.

People from all over the slums were slinking around, making their way to where the rocket thrusters had sounded off yesterday. Some parents that maintained the kindness to actually look after their children lead their children by their hand to rummage through the scraps, a fun-filled activity for the whole family. Oh, the simple joy to be found in sorting through another man's trash.

One person's trash is, well, still just trash. Though the trash does hold a little bit more value to this group of people.

There were mountains of garbage, the black containers packed up to staggering heights. A veritable sea of garbage that stretched out as far as the eye could see.

When ransacking these heaps, it was a sort of luck-based gamble.

Some of the great, black bags would hold nothing useful. Sometimes it would be old-unusable wires, dead batteries, bags of swept-up dust, etc.

Other times, Ambitan would get a bit luckier and hit it big with a couple of morsels or scraps from the tables of the Upper Sectors. The Upper Sectors' trash was the most desirable to the slum-rats down here.

Taking out a shard of glass from his pocket, Ambitan sliced open one of the bags. The jagged piece didn't cut through it cleanly though, so with a bit more exertion of effort Ambitan sawed through the slightly thicker plastic until the garbage that had been pressed tight against the inner confines was finally released in a deluge all over Ambitan.

Disregarding the scraps of paper, used tissues, and paper towels that were strewn all over him, Ambitan continued ripping the bag open. Tossing aside several more gross, used tissues Ambitan managed to find his first morsel of food in a while, a small piece of stale toast.

The exterior of it was rough and coarse. The crust was tough and hard to chew. But it was no matter to Ambitan who had long grown used to this.

After hungrily devouring this morsel, Ambitan picked up on the sound of heavy footsteps and cries of pain.

Knowing this, Ambitan immediately buried himself in the mounds of trash, seeking refuge from the approaching people.

The Gnashers as they called themselves are a vicious group of people, even the fellow slum members looked down upon them but it's not like anyone had the power of shits to give.

It was every man for themselves and in the grand scheme of things who would even care about a couple of slum rats that were bound the eventually die?

The odor was foul and as the smell perforated all around, but accustomed to this Ambitan decided to keep rummaging around while attempting to keep his movements as quiet as possible.

The footsteps were getting closer and then they halted at a neighboring garbage pile, at least from what Ambitan could tell. He was stuck in a severely uncomfortable position though, holding a glass bottle with one arm while twisting himself in a sort of human pretzel of sorts.

With each movement he made it would slightly rustle the mountain of garbage he was taking refuge in and little grunts would escape his lips.

The air was choking, and he oh so desperately wanted to get out and steal a couple of breaths of fresh air. But what he desired mattered little in the face of his self-preservation instincts.

The air itself tasted stale but the footsteps were still going on outside…

Rapidly, as time continued to pass, Ambitan's panting grew heavier as he slowly exhausted his oxygen supplies and the air continued to heat up.

Beads of sweat dripped down his brow and his pits were beginning to stink. His sinuses that had long been hardened by life in the slums were even starting to get affected now as his eyes watered.

Time was ticking down and it didn't seem like The Gnashers had any plans on going away soon, they were probably working at another neighboring garbage pile anyways.

Inwardly, Ambitan remained patient though and counted off the seconds in his head. Every now and then the neighboring garbage would shift and creak with loud shrieks of rusted metal and crashes of gigantic plastic bags.

The heat was really getting to him and now as he was slowly getting cooked in the giant black bags of garbage.

Slowly, Ambitan picked away at pieces of garbage, abandoning the entrance that he had initially made as that particular spot was far too dangerous given the point at which he heard the sounds coming from.

Stowing away some partially drained batteries into his rucksack he pressed onwards, pushing aside the garbage and placing it behind him to sort of tunnel through the mountain in a sense.

This was very risky though because oftentimes the garbage would stretch on for what seemed like ages on end, and who knows when he would be able to retrieve oxygen again.

But Ambitan much rather preferred suffocation via garbage pile compared to the alternative of slave labor with The Gnashers. Getting chipped and forced to work under the threat of extremely violent death was not a particularly enticing lifestyle for him.

As he kept on going his breathing became more and more labored, and his movements became sluggish. His eyelids drooped down as he became unbearably hot. His hair felt like it was strangling him and his skin practically wanted to crawl off of him.

He was sweating profusely now and his ragtag shirt was now absolutely dripping.

Quickly, he began to panic, and under the circumstances, his mind began to wonder about the possibility of not being to escape, and as such his lungs rapidly contracted as he began to hyperventilate which only further exacerbated the problem of him quickly running out of oxygen.

But there was no stopping, his body was screaming for rest but the adrenaline took over and he continued to feverishly shovel garbage behind him.

His hands developed cuts as they were raked by random shards of glass from old bottles and the like and used needles.

His nerves protested in complaint, but regardless he pushed onwards.

"Should I just give up?", he thought, "Is there even an end to this?" His arms were dog-tired and his limp leg was swelling up, he hoped that it would still be recoverable though. Otherwise, there would never be an escape from this hellish world.

Soon enough though, his determination would be rewarded as the first cracks of sunlight, much like the radiant dawn after the dismal night, peeped through the cracks around several bags of garbage.