taken from him by force. He lay motionless, ignoring the stones pressing into his flesh and the burning of his elbows and knees where he’d managed to remove a fair amount of skin.
Part of him wanted to scream and rage but bitter experience held him in check.
“It’s all rubbish,” Robert said.
“It belongs in the bin,” Emma said.
Their laughter made them sound like a pack of hyenas. Mercifully, they left him alone, talking and sniggering among each other. Etienne kept his eyes closed, hardly daring to breathe. A clatter of plastic farther along informed him someone had tossed his DVDs in the promised receptacle. Not even they would dare damage school property, although chances were good some of the discs could be damaged anyhow. When he was certain they had disappeared around the corner, Etienne opened his eyes and sat up, first brushing the worst of the dirt off his jeans and t-shirt. Both knees of his jeans had rips in them that would be a bitch to fix. Blood stained the edges of the torn fabric pink.
His hands and elbows stung something furious and, where he’d brushed his shirt, small traces of blood darkened the fabric.
“Well, nothing of my person totally broken,” he said.
His next problem was the bin. He was too short to look inside, let alone reach for his movies.
“Buggeration!”
They’d known, of course. The only good thing was that they hadn’t decided to throw him into the bin as well. He’d have to climb in, possibly risking damage to hundreds of rands worth of DVDs, in order to retrieve the films. Etienne also wasn’t about to go looking for someone to help him, either. He’d never hear the end of it, then.
The school’s bins were old oil drums that had been painted a cheerful blue to match the colors and had been cemented to the ground, no doubt to forestall mischief. He couldn’t knock the bin over. Etienne muttered a few oaths beneath his breath, reached to grip the rim then pulled himself up.
After scrabbling furiously with his feet, he was able to teeter on the edge before he tipped, to land among the detritus of orange peels, apple cores, half-eaten sandwiches, soft-drink cans...and worse. Something had died in here, its stench decidedly ripe with the sickly sweet signature of rot.
Etienne gulped back his retches and searched for the DVD covers among the filth. The good news was that none of the cases had opened. He wiped off the worst of the gunk, then realized his predicament.
How the hell was he supposed to climb out with the boxes? If he threw them out, they might break open. If he shoved them down the front of his shirt, he’d most likely crack them in his efforts to get out. He needed both hands if he wanted to pull himself back out onto the lip, so tucking them beneath an armpit wouldn’t work either.
Most of the garbage had already compacted with his entry, so there was not point trying to stack stuff to aid in his escape.
“Jesus, Etienne, you should think before you act, sometimes,” he said, darkly. Deeply annoyed, he was about to toss the movies out while hoping for the best when a loud bang reverberated through his metal prison, followed by another. Unsure at first and dazed by the racket, it took him a few heartbeats to figure out that someone beat the oil drum which contained him.
His ears rang with each strike and even when he pressed his hands over his ears, it did little to relieve the agony.
They must have waited to see what he would do. Stupid, stupid, foolish Etienne!
All he could do was crouch in the garbage to wait out this latest assault, until they grew bored with their dismal sport. He longed for that moment to come. After what felt like an eternity, the blows stopped. Hands clamped to his head, he crouched for a while longer, hardly daring to breathe or stir.
He waited until the laughter grew distant then decided on the lesser of the evils facing him, throwing the discs so they landed on the grassy verge. Etienne scrambled out after. He
Part of him wanted to scream and rage but bitter experience held him in check.
“It’s all rubbish,” Robert said.
“It belongs in the bin,” Emma said.
Their laughter made them sound like a pack of hyenas. Mercifully, they left him alone, talking and sniggering among each other. Etienne kept his eyes closed, hardly daring to breathe. A clatter of plastic farther along informed him someone had tossed his DVDs in the promised receptacle. Not even they would dare damage school property, although chances were good some of the discs could be damaged anyhow. When he was certain they had disappeared around the corner, Etienne opened his eyes and sat up, first brushing the worst of the dirt off his jeans and t-shirt. Both knees of his jeans had rips in them that would be a bitch to fix. Blood stained the edges of the torn fabric pink.
His hands and elbows stung something furious and, where he’d brushed his shirt, small traces of blood darkened the fabric.
“Well, nothing of my person totally broken,” he said.
His next problem was the bin. He was too short to look inside, let alone reach for his movies.
“Buggeration!”
They’d known, of course. The only good thing was that they hadn’t decided to throw him into the bin as well. He’d have to climb in, possibly risking damage to hundreds of rands worth of DVDs, in order to retrieve the films. Etienne also wasn’t about to go looking for someone to help him, either. He’d never hear the end of it, then.
The school’s bins were old oil drums that had been painted a cheerful blue to match the colors and had been cemented to the ground, no doubt to forestall mischief. He couldn’t knock the bin over. Etienne muttered a few oaths beneath his breath, reached to grip the rim then pulled himself up.
After scrabbling furiously with his feet, he was able to teeter on the edge before he tipped, to land among the detritus of orange peels, apple cores, half-eaten sandwiches, soft-drink cans...and worse. Something had died in here, its stench decidedly ripe with the sickly sweet signature of rot.
Etienne gulped back his retches and searched for the DVD covers among the filth. The good news was that none of the cases had opened. He wiped off the worst of the gunk, then realized his predicament.
How the hell was he supposed to climb out with the boxes? If he threw them out, they might break open. If he shoved them down the front of his shirt, he’d most likely crack them in his efforts to get out. He needed both hands if he wanted to pull himself back out onto the lip, so tucking them beneath an armpit wouldn’t work either.
Most of the garbage had already compacted with his entry, so there was not point trying to stack stuff to aid in his escape.
“Jesus, Etienne, you should think before you act, sometimes,” he said, darkly. Deeply annoyed, he was about to toss the movies out while hoping for the best when a loud bang reverberated through his metal prison, followed by another. Unsure at first and dazed by the racket, it took him a few heartbeats to figure out that someone beat the oil drum which contained him.
His ears rang with each strike and even when he pressed his hands over his ears, it did little to relieve the agony.
They must have waited to see what he would do. Stupid, stupid, foolish Etienne!
All he could do was crouch in the garbage to wait out this latest assault, until they grew bored with their dismal sport. He longed for that moment to come. After what felt like an eternity, the blows stopped. Hands clamped to his head, he crouched for a while longer, hardly daring to breathe or stir.
He waited until the laughter grew distant then decided on the lesser of the evils facing him, throwing the discs so they landed on the grassy verge. Etienne scrambled out after. He
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