Garbage Disposal (Novella)

About the Aero-station

How could the colour grey contain so many lines? Not that he was complaining. Straight meant simple, and simple meant co-ordinated, and co-ordinated meant everything in an orderly pattern that allowed him to get through easily. Or, at least, more easily than he would have if the order didn't exist. 

The dry scent of plastic and metal permeated the air in dull monotony, shielding the salty sweat that occasionally wafted from the middle-aged couple in front of him. He swallowed. He needed to clean his teeth.

A sound broke its way to him, like a canon coming up the line. The couple in front of him stepped forward, the motion of which he copied immediately. The forward stepping continued down the snaked line behind him, continuing round and round until the person in front of the door stepped forward and another person was admitted behind the entry to the magnanimous space. 

Past the tenth person in front of him was a path that split in two ways leading to two doors. One path released a person down it almost every turn, but the other one was practically empty except for the soldiers which stood along its line. Of course.

Between the ten people in front of him and the paths lay a series of traps - scanners of all sorts, persecutors waiting with a series of questions, bag-checkers, ID specialists, advanced lie detectors and a strange woman who was always glancing at her clock and tapping her foot.

The couple in front of him stepped forward and he followed. Another step, another second closer to his trial.

A soldier began walking his way, scanning the people with casual boredom. Finn - that was his name, the name he had been given - tightened his fisted hand around the handle of the large and long bag at his side. He swallowed, lowering his head and blending into the shadows of his overbearing coat, and studied the floor.

His eyes narrowed in on a speck of dark-brown, raised slightly from the floor. His lips curled. Disgusting. He stepped to the side slightly, avoiding it. 

The soldier stopped beside him, turning and raising an eyebrow. "Something the matter."

He glanced up at the soldier, low-lidded eyes expressing boredom, hatred and emptiness all at the same time - a seemingly impossible feat that he managed to capture perfectly. He lowered his head instantly. Hiding wasn't in his nature. "Nothing."

The soldier scowled. "Then don't move from the line."

He stepped back, feet on either side of the dirt, careful not to touch it. "Yes sir."

The soldier ignored him, continuing up the line.

The couple in front stepped forward. He followed suit.

Everything was boring. Everything at the aero-station was such a series of monotonous drag that he was forced to put up with. And it wasn't fair. Not at all. Everyone was being turned away from passing, but he actually had a shot. And he was stuck in a line - a line that had dragged, that he had been stuck in for so long he brain had started making up new versions of society and begun evaluating how able citizens would be if they had his job. Imagining. That was a bad sign.

He was going crazy.

He stepped forward.

Was there any device around this area that told the time? Anything other than that watch the strange 'trap' woman was constantly glancing at?

He sighed. He was going to be late. He hated being late. The whole idea of letting time pass further than the exact moment expected of a person to arrive was simply insufferable to him. Entirely incomprehensible and deadly strident.

What a pain. What a complete and utter pain. He hadn't been this annoyed since his associate had spilled a drop of beetroot juice on his shirt five days prior. Frustratingly, he had to admit his anger may have taken the better of him a little. A little, meaning he'd almost killed the woman, but she'd quickly gotten close to her axe and the small button in the corner of the room that would call someone of higher authority. So, he'd let her get away with it. Reluctantly.