Shanelle DeJournett

One Man's Trash...

Amid the bustle of the market, the flurry of skirts and legs and tails, was trash. It littered the streets, and like cholesterol in a humanoid's artery, sometimes it blocked off entire alleyways, dumpsters hidden so far beneath the detritus that not even the arachnarats could nest there. That didn't mean, however, that they wouldn't glut themselves on the bountiful feast and nesting fodder that the passersby carelessly tossed. It was somewhere amid that mess of debris that an odd sort of life blinked in to existence, one moment there and in the next...