IntroDat HT09
Holy Macaroni!
Kryptokorsordslösare
They who do not exist
Chapter 1
Dawn. The sun tickled his smooth surface. The reflection in his brass covered locks blinded him,
he was polished, he was ready, he was a briefcase.
The sounds of his master were unmistakeable. The thumping footsteps
rapidly enclosing could only mean one thing. It was time.
The door lock rattled as The Gray Overcoat lifted him in a firm grip. Off they went, he and his master,
as had always been, together. Down the flight of stairs, across the hallway following another set of stairs,
turn around.
The flash of sunlight as they entered the Outside world burned his skin. It was not agonizing as much as
a phsychological burn. He could not feel it physically though in his mind he knew it slowly dried him out
and finally it would take his life, he would be replaced.
The yellow boat carried them for twenty eternities untill coming to a sudden stop in the flat sea of black rock.
The gray overcoat stepped out, carrying his black leather briefcase in what was inclosed in his left sleeve.
Together they floated across the plaza into a structural wonder of glass and brushed aluminum.
This was the final destination. The gray overcoat seemingly floated into a cubicle
and folded itself, setting down on a desk.
The briefcase was set down. Rest at last, he sighed to himself.
To his right, as always, was his exact opposite. He hated it. It was always full of
shredded documents. Had he aquired the ability he would have told the trashcan
to go stick your head in a cement mixer and rid the world of another jackass.
But ofcourse he could not. The bearer of the gray overcoat seemed to need it. Fucking trashcan.
Instead he diverted his attention across the hallway, to the cubicle next to his. There was
the only precious item he knew of. He gazed upon a dark red fake leather purse. Sure, it was not
of as fine quality as he was, but it was the prettiest purse he had ever seen. If only he could walk.
Fucking trashcan.
There was nothing that could express his will and simultaniously his unability to move, to force
the gray overcoat to move him into that cubicle.
Chapter 2 - fate
Fucking trashcan. Deep inside of his leathery interior he knew what was the foundation of his
searing hate for the trashcan. While he was everything the trashcan was not, the exact opposite,
expensive and filled with priceless documents, the trashcan was a cheap plastic thing full of shit.
The unavoidable fact that fueled his hatred was the fact that no matter what his life would end
inside of such a despicable, filthy object. He fucking hated trashcans.
And the day came. The slightest rip, but a notch in his pride, was laid eye upon by
the gray overcoat. The decision was made.
His whole life flashed infront of his now not so shiny brass covered locks. The sparkle of
sunlight, the dark red fake leather purse, the cubicle and ofcourse the fucking trashcan.
An internal scream later he found himself among the shredded feces of his own, fragments of what
paper had once been his contents.
Fuck you, trashcan, he whimpered and siezed to not exist.