maggot scoop

Life is like trash.

Each day, you produce an amount of waste that you are supposed to take out every now and then.
You take out the trash.
You bag it all up really tight in black bags, spray it with insecticide and carry it quietly to the curb in the dead of night, when no one is watching.

But there are bits that seep through the bags, bits that you don't want to feel or smell. Some have sharp edges, some are squishy or slimy; they slide through your fingers as you try to reach them.

In the dark, damp bottom of the trash hey merge, little white hairs spurt from the mess, the fuzz thickens.
And you throw your daily waste on top of that.

And you take out the trash.

Almost all the trash.

Forgotten over the years, coats and coats of hardened slime and shards begin to form life.
Nothing big, angry, raw or fierce. No pissed off phoenix reborn from those ashes.

What grows instead is little, vulnerable, fearful.
Pathetic little maggots that shy away from the light every time the lid is opened. They can't crawl out on their own and you refuse to touch them.