The beginning of a short story about trash
On the 16th of January, just outside Wolverhampton, on some playing fields in Heath Town, the first package arrived. Sometime during the night, a block of what appeared to be landfill measuring forty, by forty by eighty feet, simply appeared. Nearby residents reported hearing crashing noises as the block partially collapsed some time around 5am. At first it was thought some kind of massive practical joke, then unease set in as it was quickly realised that secretly moving a massive pile of refuse in the middle of night, undetected, into a residential field, was simply impossible. During the day people panicked, cordons were set up, investigators in white crime-scene suits picked carefully through the rubbish, police road blocks were put in place, helicopters examined the land from above. Residents were asked to stay indoors until the garbage could be removed. And so, as night fell, that would have been the end of a simply curious, unexplained story... were it not for the next one.
At exactly 4.53am there was a massive explosion at the Heath Town field site. It was only after examining CCTV footage of the area, frame by frame, that it was it finally explained. In the space of a single second, an additional, seemingly identical, block of trash had appeared in exactly the same position as the previous one. Where trash remained from the previous block, an explosion had occurred with the force of a hundred high-pressure boiler explosions. The refuse had been blown in a radius of a hundred metres or so, and even launched over and into nearby houses. What looked like a strangely-shaped refrigerator wedged into a chimney stack was widely broadcast on local and national news. Three men died on site, two police that were patrolling the border of the field, and an unfortunate shift worker on a bicycle in Woden Road who was hit by some kind of metallic valve.
During the next day large landfill machinery was moved on site, and the refuse was loaded into trucks and ferried away during the day to RAF Cosford, some 9 miles down the road, for examination before disposal. By 8pm that evening the site was clear and, at a safe distance, a hundred cameras watched from the ground and sky. Satellites peered, and residents all shivered in the local school gymnasium on hastily set-up z-beds. The Red Cross served soup. 24-hour rolling news commentators tried to pass the hours, staring at an empty floodlit field from the roof of a local factory, stamping their feet against the cold.
At exactly 4.53 am, another block of trash appeared. Just literally appeared in the blink of an eye. By this time the whole world was watching, and the whole world erupted into a frenzy of speculation and conspiracy.
And so began the first of the regular trash deliveries. Over the next few weeks things settled to an uncomfortable routine of endless trucks and mechanical monsters clearing away each night’s block of rubbish. RAF Cosford was beginning to fill up, and it was considered that there was enough to investigate already, so the blocks were now being transported to the many landfill sites in the area. Already there were rumours that the garbage itself wasn’t normal. That there were many strange things in the rubbish, this certainly wasn’t British waste, that was for sure. Local residents started to return home, but most couldn't stand the smell and so moved to relatives or into locally offered temporary council accommodation. That was another thing — the smell. Most people knew how a landfill ought to smell, but this was different, somehow slightly odd, like landfill from an exotic country, full of slightly foul spice and strange cloying fruit.
I don't know if I should continue the story!