A little girl cried outside a crowded restaurant, pointing at a trash can: “My mom is sleeping in there.” The wealthy diners laughed and threw food at her. But when a billionaire pulled up, stepped out, and slowly lifted the lid…
bloated plastic bags and wet, decomposing cardboard.
Through the haze of drugs and physical trauma, a sound pierced the steel walls of my prison. It was faint, distorted by the relentless ambient roar of downtown Mapleton, but it was the only sound tethering my soul to my body.
“If nobody opens that container, my mom is going to die in there!”
