Brona's Heaping Insight


Written by Septia.


“And that is how I lost my family's fortune.” The girl said atop the garbage heap, affectionately referred to as mt. ol-beddings. She turned over – the trash pile of bunched together pillows and tainted blankets crinkling around her – peering over to the tattered shamble of a fellow trash resident. The one who had supposedly listened, had also laid motionless for the duration of the retelling. 
	“Whole family's, huh?” She eventually said, scratching the bridge of her nose with a horseshoe she kept around her neck. 
	“Can write that up again, they weren't that pleased with me, and now I am here.” The girl said, brushing off a bean can that had wedged itself into her aquamarine uniform – well maintained, though showing the tell tale signs of hobo-wear. 
	“Could've been worse.” 
	The former fancy girl creeked her head to the side “how, exactly, if I may? I am stuck on a dump with my life in shambles and no one reasonable to converse with.” 
	Brona sighed. “Ya could be stuck in a dump, lost your past, 'aving no one reasonable to speak with,” she began, and then closed her eyes, “And be me.” 
	A mute veil engulfed the heap of, at one point, fashionable bedding. 
	“Yea I'm not one for sap stories either, that is what I am talking about. Though what is the point to keep trying, I know what's is like out there, Ooh boy do I know. I've caused a lot of it too. So, least you got options-…” Brona, the spirit of misfortune, said before opening her eye. The trash companion's silence was not out of shock, or polite norms, but because an avalanche of trash bags had descended upon her, entombing her in a shifting slough of black plastic and leftovers. 
	“Yeah, no see that is kinda what I am talking about.” Brona continued. 
	-Bbwfngh- -BBThwhts- The dark polymer husk moulded and bumped from the struggles underneath, the fancy girl's contours shifting up against the surface of the husk, then dragged downwards. 
	Brona peered down, watching the transient companion's feet wriggling down the gape of a black, plastic maw. Scrunched up rubber tufts held together with bread-bag sealers marking fangs in the gape. And as it locked them together over the squirming meal, she witnessed a pair of pearls shift to glare arrows into her. 
	“Yeah. That figures.” Brona nodded to themselves. 
	The avalanche of garbage shifted, the companion's outlines deflating, sinking down in coils of the sewage serpent's murky dungeon. Bags and sacks sloughed into one another, moulding together as ferromagnetic liquid at the command of a magnet. They slumped upwards, along the hill Brona had taken for a resting place in the waste dump, caring not for the limitations of gravity as the amalgamation's locomotion, a mix of sacks shuffling in and out of its form, the slithers of a snake, and the lazy heavings of a caterpillar. Brona's eyes trailed along the shape of the amalgam of filth, as it towered above her gaping hatch oozing with dense plumes of lime tinted fog, curling in tornados of tempestous taint. 
	Brona shrugged, a few flaps of her patched and haphazardly banded attire flapping by her shoulders like a pompom. “Might as well get me too. S' better than this dump.” 
	The face of the beast hesitated, then scrunched up with the sound of crumpling together a crusty plastic bag -Chhrlslgths- the face lowering towards the ground, before shuffling along in its uneven stride, away from Brona. 
	A few seconds passed. She eyed the horror, waiting. 
	“What, no sneak attacks? Did you really just, hey,” Brona gargled and chucked out a huge glob of spit onto the trash trudge, scrambling up and standing, “how come I'm the one being ignored? I was on this trash before that brat, this is my thing,” she slammed into her chest, “show me some star blasted respect.” 
	“The snake stopped, and twisted its head one hundred and eighty degrees back towards the lord of the trash heap. 
	“Even I have standards.” 
	Brona's shoulders fell limp, as her expression followed suit. 
	Bulges billowed and surged up the serpent's side, moulding to and fro so that satchels of recyclables pressed forth from the mount of its kind, bulking up the shape of the beast as the domes surged upwards. The snake's head arched back, maw unhinged as the droves culminated at the top, and… -Chhwlrplth- from out the maw burst forth a body, flicking its white hair back in a crescent of drooping garbage water, its body bereft of clothing and paled as silver onions; a white pearl in a black mire. The body contorted, stretching, joints -Chhrsth- popping as it got used to the movements. Head arched back with a -Cnnths- crack of calcium, staring down at Brona with the face of the once fancy girl that had taken shelter on the dump together with Brona. 
	“Yo.” 
	The creature paused. “I'd expected to evoke… something more.” 
	“I have standards.” 
	The coiling mass of trash sunk together at Brona's feet, all while exhaling a single, begrudger sigh. “I will give you that one…” 
	“Checkmate.” Brona huffed and crossed her legs to slump down. “So what are you that you don't feel like that girl. For one you are missing your breasts.” 
	The human top of the creature heaved itself up and peered down its chest, flat, as with the rest of its uniform, parchment white frame, though bloats and boils formed along the bottom, where it merged with the trash snake's maw, buckling the skin outwards as it contorted around the bulk from below. 
	“Oh they are in here somewhere, it is sort of a skin-stealing deal,” the being assured. 
	“Ah,” Brona retaliated. 
	“For your information, I have resided here longer than you, though I felt naked, I wanted to give the host business thing a try.” 
	“Think stealing her body makes you the parasite in this relationship.” 
	“She's not around anymore, and I am hosting myself in her.” 
	“Brona's glance strived downwards the bloating humanoid abdomen, seeing it gradually distend with awkward shapes bulging it out from underneath. “Yup. So, how?” 
	The trash amalgam drummed its fingers to its chin – the tapping gave off vibrations similar to that of inflated sausage skin. “You know what happens when you toss out old Hanji-pepper in the garbage?” 
	“Brona pointed to the trash companion. “This is what happens.” 
	“This is what happens,” They affirmed.” 
	“So are you a chick now, or what's up?” 
	“having breasts does not signify my gender,” the trash snake scoffed,” the primary part of my body does not even confide with humanity’s depictions of gender.” 
	“Whatever dude.” Brona sighed and slumped back in the trash. Having exhausted her capacity for dialogue with the garbage. 


~ 1 ~


 -Pfppfrrwwrth- -Chhrlstlshgh- A crinkle of oiled up latex gear and flutter of skunk breath was enough for Brona to raise her head. Down mt. ol-bedding slumped most of the trash naga, their tail pointed in Brona's vague direction, and the tip engorged in a pear shape, the brim of plastic flaps curling peeling back with the curl of submerged leather -Chhrsltpsh- Around and encroaching bile of black sludge. -Shhrrlsltght- -Chhrlptsh- The tail disgorged an orb of the muck, letting the clear, reflective black substance dollop up under its pursing pucker, and flop onto the ground with a string of molten coal refuse tethering it back up to the tail end of the monstrosity. The viscous substance trickling out in tangles over the globe on the ground -Ghwfllwlfpht- before stretching agape to free more of the trash infused nectar. Its surface absorbed all light coming towards it, save for a specular glare that shone right in Brona's eye. She took note of the bumps and boils disturbing the surface of the matured trash reduction… -Sppllltprht- just as a bundle of it burst open, erecting a (collarbone; a stark white contrast to the umbral bile wallowing out of the tail as a batch of molten tar. Along the droves of manure budging free of the rhythmically engorging tip laid clustered numerous skeletal remnants, fractured as well as those partially melted in the scorching hot slop. 
	“I've heard bones make a pretty solid foundation,” Brona offhanded. 
	“I prefer steel and rubber,” the menagerie of waste replied. 
	“Guess I wouldn't know,” Brona said and turned over in the sufficiently comfy mountain, as stacks of the former companion piled up in fudge thick droves, -Splsltsh- smacking into one another and melding their contours together to brew into a sprawling bulwark of pitch. 
	“You know, I could have lied.” 
	Brona didn't budge. 
	“This might be someone else's skin, and that poor girl would have been tortuously processed through me, rather than quick, painless skin salvage.” 
	Brona peered down. “You are chugging out her processed slime either way. 
	The amalgam huffed. “And this is why people with taste won't eat you.” 
	“Pha… ehea… ahha… ahhaa~.” Brona's chuckles escalated to a holler of laughter, clutching her stomach, as the assault of giddy cackle forced itself out her throat; as one escorts the rude late staying guest from a party. 
	The amalgam huffed and slithered along. -Thprphrhffllth- dropping melon-sized globules of bone strewn oil-gel in its wake, crawling up along the heap to Brona. 
	“That is the voice of giving up, isn't it?” 
	The laughter stifled by the remark's surgical precision. 
	“Yeah, so.” I don't have anywhere else, or anyone else, or anything else…” Brona felt the creature poke her side. 
	“You got this.” 
	“Don't remind me…” 
	“I mean your body, unlike the one I pilfered, you can still walk on your own, if you are still breathing, then you have options to exhaust.” 
	Brona gasped for breath to respond… and felt the lung course breath course down into her lungs, air fresh with brine from the seat, and tainted by lemon and burnt rubber from the snake's expulsions, the air made a u-turn in her chest, after spreading its oxygen through her bloodstream, and wisped out in silence past her teeth. Brona's brow laid furrowed in deep grooves, as her head turned off from the garbage, and back into the city. 


~ 2 ~


“Can I crash her-.” -Chhrrth-. Another door slammed in her face. She'd lost doubt by now, it was the early hours of the night, and she'd attempted most of the doors in the other apartment district. Though, those words made her lift her hand again, kissing her horse shoe before knocking on the next door. 
	-Ckth- It opened, and a warm glow shone from inside, obfuscated by a silhouette of a short girl; skin a fair chocolate brown, clad in black lingerie and white drills bouncing into place on the sides of their face. Their gaze was stern, though melted after their eyes had trailed down the downtrodden guise of Brona. 
	Brona raised a hand towards them. “Could I just crash here for the night?” 
	The apartment owners's face furrowed in doubt, then, mellowed, a smile, as warm as the glow from inside, fell upon Brona, and they took a step back, hand reaching out to meet theirs. And then, a couple of beautiful words, left the girl's lips… 
	“Get lost.” 
	-Chkktgh- The door slammed shut. Brona stood defiant, then spoke in a clear, theatrical tone. “I'm still gonna.” She fished out a horseshoe from the waterfall of tatters cloaking her form, and hung on the door handle. The spirit plonking her rear down opposite the door, and staring focusing her glare on the gate. She was determined to exhaust this option.