3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320
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In the evenings Peter would walk around to the backside of the mall, where the dumpsters lived. Though the smell of the dumpsters behind the food court inspired in him a disgust and loathing that seemed to come from some unknown place deep within him.
Once in a while, Peter would visit the dumpsters, not for its tangible treasures but for those brief glimpses at illumined memories. Hopping into the rankest dumpster he could find, Peter closed his eyes and breathed normally. He didn’t want to force the memories, he only hoped to inspire them to surface.
The sound of a grown man’s yell might be the only memory.
A glimpse at crocodile skin slipping into murky water.
The weight of a dead body in his arms.
But they were only as real as dreams. They lacked roots in his current life. Living on the side of a highway, looking forward to meals under golden arches but otherwise settling for whatever could be found in dumpsters.
Sometimes, even while awake, Peter would lose all grip on reality and have the impusle to fly. He might stand on the edge of a freeway overpass, stuck between what he has experienced to be gravity and what he feels just might be true.
He’ll laugh when a passerby trips, falls or drops something they hold but if it’s a child, Peter rushed over to help. The guardians, the adults caring for the children tell him to “get outta here” or “get the hell outta here” or “Fuck off.”
More often than not he doesn’t feel right. He feels like a sand storm. Everything he is twisting, shaking and vibrating inside him. The only thing keeping it all in is his skin.
He kept potatoes just so he could watch them grow eyes. They looked like they were trying to escape themselves too.