Garbage by Megan Russo

The flames were high, coming dangerously close to 49-86900’s face as he watched the skin peel and begin to blacken. The bones were a glittering white for just a moment, before sinking deep into the crumbling remains of flesh. 49-86900’s eyes were fixed, the shovel held tightly in his hand as he paused by his pile. He inched forward, sweat beginning to drip down his neck, soaking the back of his work shirt.

Who were they today?

“Is there an issue?” asked 49-86512 as he stopped his own work, nudging the other man’s shoulder as 49-86900 snapped out of his trance.

“No,” 49-86900 murmured, then continued loading the bodies into the processor.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s