Intro

The rain was coming down so hard that Don could see his skin dent with every drop that hit him. He hadn't been warm or dry for longer than he could remember now, not that he was in the business of holding onto memories. As he scrambled through the bags of rubbish, recklessly, it would seem, climbing a fetid plastic mound, he was on mental auto-pilot. His hands and eyes were operaing totally separately from the rest of him. He had done this thankless task, looking for something to digest, so many times that he didn't have to engage his brain any more. Learned outcomes from a million trash bags have given him the abilitiy to just trust his instincts. Over his shoulder was his trusty rucksack, the only thing he kept from his previous life, and this was where he stored his 'finds' ready for use when he absolutely had to eat or drink. Don was no fool, he understood that edible items were few and far between so he stored whatever he found like a wild animal. He was in the business of survival now, nothing more, and that was how he wanted it to be. He had had his time in the sun, living a life where he didn't have to worry about food or shelter, and where had that left him? He had made the decision to travel a different route now, and this route that he had been travelling for the best part of 10 years had been less painful than what had come before. No ties. No responsibility. No guilt.

As he ripped through the bags, taking out and storing items of potential use, his mind was where it always was, with the accident. Ever since the day he crashed, killing his wife and two daughters, there has been a mental video playing in Don Thompson's brain on a never ceasing, never pausing loop. The morning of the crash, loading the car with all the holiday paraphinalia. Arguing with his eldest about her attendance on the trip and not being so moody about leaving her boyfriend for the summer. Taking the piss out his wifes map reading skills going through Chester. Stopping for a packed lunch at the foot of Mount Snowdon. Taking a corner too fast and ploughing through the barrier. A young doctor telling him his family were dead. All in 'five minutes ago' detail. From the second he realised he was not going to make that curve he was as dead as his family. He wasn't alive anymore, he simply existed.

Movin through the pile of trash his eye caught a glimpse of something so out of the ordinary that he had to stop and engage his brain into the present. As he squinted through the rain in his eyes he could make out something, something in a gap in the bags. As he frowned, confused about what he was looking at, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling him, the rain suddenly stopped. The torrent that had been beating him all day just stopped in a split second. He looked up to see, to his amazement, a pure blue sky. He took a few seconds to let the sun warm his wet face before casting his gaze back to the bags. He could see more clearly now and what he could make out made him fall back in shock. Scrambling away from the pile his mind was a tornado of thoughts. He faught to get a handle on his runaway emotions. It couldn't be, how could it be? What to do? Was it?

After a brief period of thought Don edged his way back to the pile. He was sure he had seen skin in this pile of crap, but he had to be sure. Like travelling past road-kill you have to have a closer look, don't you? Easing his way up the mound his eyes were fixed on the gap, and the closer he got, the more sure he was that there was a body behind this plastic shroud. Looking around, as if for someone to come and uncover the body for him, his head began to swim and his stomach became ever more knotted. He had heard stories of homeless people turning up dead, of bodies being uncovered, but he had never seen a dead person in real life. Cautiously he began pushing the bags aside. He surprised himself with how controlled he was given the circumstances, almost casually looking for a dead body amongst stinking bin bags. It was like slow motion, remote viewing. When he had finally removed all the plastic he moved a couple of steps back to see that it was the body of a young boy, probably 8 years old. Its skin was chalky white with the slightest hint of light blue. He suddenly realised that the body was completely naked, and this turned his guts as he went through the possible reasons for it. Just then he noticed the briefest puff of vapour come from the boys mouth. His own mouth dropped open. No? He again carefully approached the pile. Holy Jesus! There it was again, the shortest most imperceptible whiff of steam. The boy was alive.