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Writing prompt

Trash or treasure?

The Underbelly Team

Write a piece that explores trash or ‘treasure’.


Ideas


  • A sanitation worker discovers a series of anonymous letters hidden in the trash, revealing the confessions of the city's residents.

  • A group of children make a playground out of a massive pile of discarded materials and trash. Through their eyes, explore themes of innocence, creativity, and the stark contrast with the adult world.

  • A detective stumbles upon a crucial piece of evidence in a murder case while sifting through the victim’s trash. How does this discovery change the course of the investigation and reveal hidden aspects of the victim's life?



Responses 


The Pioneer


I usually get excited, not over the usual stuff that gets people going.

No, I get my kicks from collecting old books, magazines, and newspapers. It's the chance to glimpse into the thoughts and styles of a bygone age that no longer exists, and their rarity excites me. To think I am one of very few people gazing upon the words written so long ago.


I was excited when my wife, Mel, told me her sister, Sara, had picked up a very old local newspaper, The Pioneer. It would be sent up with their dad when he visited on Sunday.

He always visited us on a Sunday and sat drawing. Usually an elephant or a cat’s backside.


The anticipation of the stories and items and photographs I’d see! I could hardly sleep.


“Hopefully he’ll bring back all those big bowls I’ve lent him to take stuff home. I used to have four and he’s taken them all and forgotten to bring them back,” said Mel.


Sunday came. Mel’s dad came. There was no Pioneer, and no bowls.

Just lots of drawings of elephants and rear views of cats.


I said to Mel, “Ah well, he’ll remember to bring it up next time.”


“And hopefully the bowls too,” added Mel.


More Sundays came and went. No Pioneer or bowls in sight.

There were plenty of drawings of elephants and cats’ arses.


To be honest, I forgot about the precious Pioneer.


Until Monday, when Mel asked me to get our son’s bag from the car.

I saw the bag, it was bright red, and then I saw the brightly coloured big bowls.

I brought both in.


“I see you managed to get the bowls back,” I said to Mel.


“Yeah, I saw them in the back of Dad’s car when I was moving it. I grabbed them quickly before he forgot about them again,” Mel replied.


Mel said she mentioned finding the bowls on the phone to Dad and he said Sara had given him a newspaper with a lot of other stuff. He didn’t know why it's in his car, but it's very useful for wrapping up all his paint pots and brushes. It was so big he had enough pages to wrap up some glass as well.


It was my Pioneer!


An inward scream raced round my head as I saw an image of the Pioneer newspaper in lots of tiny crumpled pieces. My body felt crumpled for a few minutes.


Later, Mel said, “I’ll have to tell Sara to stop sending stuff to us through Dad. You know what he’s like. He’s such a hoarder.”


A few other phrases came into my head.

But at least we had lots of drawings of elephants and cats’  backsides.

We’d always have them.


Simon Collinson

Simon is a writer from England. He seeks solitude and shadow.



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Trash Queen


I eat the food of four-star restaurants every night. And I never pay a dime. I haven’t paid for an outfit in many years.


Occasionally I will pick up a bauble or trinket for my efforts. Free of charge.


You may wonder what brought me to these heights. Or depths, if you are viewing my lifestyle with suspicion.


I am no celebrity milking the perks of fame.


My story is not so different from many of yours here in the 21st century Venture Capital States of America. The prosperity train simply never stopped at my station. You can blame me or pity me, but it is what it is.


Are you speculating I’m a thief? You’d be incorrect.


Is your mind running in a more lascivious direction?


I want to be clear. I am not someone who exploits men for these benefits. I am no tease. And certainly not a pro, if your mind has taken you to that gutter, thank you very much.


I am a dumpster diver. And a damn good one.


Scott MacLeod

Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared recently in Punk Noir, Micromance, Rmag, Every Day Fiction, Free Flash Fiction, Bristol Noir, Havok, Witcraft, NFFD Write-In, Coffin Bell, 10 By 10 Flash, Frontier Tales, The Yard: Crime Blog, Yellow Mama, Short-story.me and Gumshoe, with more forthcoming. He can be found on Substack at https://scottmacleod1.substack.com, on Instagram @scottmacleod478 and at http://www.facebook.com/scott.Macleod.334

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