Trash Drawing Novels & Stories

One was deep and booming, easily commanding the attention of the others, who murmured anxiously in response. As we passed rows and rows of metal shelves, nearly all of them empty apart from a few moldy boxes, I scoured our surroundings, trying to glean what information I could about this place. “Looks like it was some kind of make-up warehouse.” Tristan said gruffly, his eyes darting towards the ground. “See all the trash?” Sure enough, there were flattened boxes belonging to various brands of make-up. I recognized a few, having owned some myself, though the packaging we walked on looked to be a couple years old.

I went upstairs, grabbed the box with the paint and teddy and tossed them into the trash. Walking back in, I got a new text. [BIG FUCKING MISTAKE!]

They’re way too big for my hands, but they’ll protect me from anything gross, or sharp. I flick the light of the cabin on as the sun starts falling behind the trees. I get to work, using an old dustpan to scoop up the obvious trash and dump it in the sack. There’s something satisfying about the rustling sound. With one bag full, I knot the top of it, and carry it out to the porch.

I couldn't help but say, "You should laugh while you still can. Once you regret this, you won't be laughing anymore." Calum's brow furrowed. "What are you even talking about? What do we have to regret? Stop talking nonsense." Why would they regret it? Because the demolition was fake, and they had just driven away a son worth hundreds of millions over something that didn't even exist.

Trashed. Each one she threw out felt like another snip to the ties that bound her to him, a cleansing of every night she lay awake in bed, waiting, wondering, and wishing for him to come home. She took the haul of trash out to the dumpster. When she got back inside, the severe smell of the cleaning chemicals burned her nostrils. Her steam was running out, and she decided to leave the floors for tomorrow to have some kind of plan for the next day.

I start scrubbing at the carpet with ferocity. “Just like you,” he counters, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan that makes my stomach do a weird little flip despite the fact that I am currently elbow-deep in a cleaning disaster. I finished the job and stood up. I didn’t look back as I hauled the bag of trash toward the door because if I see one more inch of his bare butt, I am going to lose my mind. I’ll need a very strong bleach with a high concentration of acid to clean out the live p**n image from my head.

They stepped inside, holding up their torchlights, only to be met with a room filled with garbage. The stench was unbearable, thick and suffocating. Amidst the filth lay a worn-out, grimy mat—it had been my bed. The only possession I had was a tattered doll I'd brought from home. The doll stood out in the squalor. Its age was apparent; the fabric was faded and patched in several places. Yet, it was clear the doll had once been cherished, lovingly repaired by its owner.

There was expired food in the pantry and cabinets; packs and packs of cigarettes; ashtrays filled to the brim; old magazines, some older than Trent himself; tools—broken or otherwise—and appliances and even an old VCR in the bathroom. Trent planned to leave Edward’s bedroom for last, but when he started to pick up trash from the floor and stuff it into a trash bag, he found himself in his dad’s bedroom. He continued cleaning, his mind blessedly silent for once. Bending down to pick up some papers, Trent found a cardboard box under the bed labeled Kids. He pulled it out, not sure what he expected. More photos?

Meanwhile, Trisha placed the gift box on the table and turned to where the twins were. “Who wants to try a drawing?” she asked, ripping the present open. It was a set of two magnetic drawing boards for children, one in light blue and the other in pink. “Show us how it works!” Trisha drew a sun with the pencil. “I don’t think you kids need this. Wanna try? Let’s see if you can use it with your fingers.” The adult Blotters and I turned to watch Trisha, sitting on the rug between the boards, where shy hesitating lines started appearing.

of existence. "Where are we going?" I yelled over the roar of the "Hard-Purge." "To the **Trash-Bin**!" Silas replied, his human face now a mask of grim determination. "It’s the only place the 'Erase' command won't look! It’s the place where all the 'Deleted' things go to hide!" ### The Kingdom of the Discarded We hit a floor of soft, white dust. But it wasn't dust. It was **Fragments**.