The Muses

Even discarded scraps deserve proper places. The Sharps bin squats in the northwestern corner of the laboratory, plastic gleaming the same crimson as the day it was crafted, while the rickety bronze dust bin is tucked behind a creaking loveseat. But perhaps the most secretive bin is the one that leans beside the Doctor’s nightstand. 

It’s nothing at first sight. The wastepaper bin is a small thing illuminated by candlelight, striped patterns cast on the wood flooring beneath it. The paper in it has the wrinkled texture of old skin and crinkles at the smallest of touches. 

01.17

Eliza doesn’t love me.

The strokes are frenzied, ink engraved so thoroughly in the paper that it’s ripped. The words extend in an endless train, shrinking as they reach the cramped bottom of the page and vie for space.

I know that she doesn't. I can see the way she looks at me now, and then yesterday when we were fighting, I realized, when was the last time we sat down and talked? I know that things have been difficult with her job, but what if I'm making things worse? What if it's my fault? It must be. I mess everything up. I wouldn’t blame her if she left me behind. Everybody does eventually. Eventually. Eventually everybody does [sic]

The next scrap beneath it is identical, the same worn yellow color of old bone. But the font is curled and lazy, each ‘p’ and ‘q’ affixed with ribbon-trail swirls and the ghosts of eraser marks.

03.25

I miss you mom. it’s all coming back to me now, every time we went to the beach and the playground. i wish i could hug you again, i wish i could hear another one of your jokes, or listen to your laugh, and go back in time. it happened too quick. i-i thought you’d be able to see my graduation? remember-you meant everything to me. it isn’t the same..i wish i could take your place. i still hear your voice in the wind…dad says you’re in heaven but i don’t know anymore..i don’t know if god even listens

The one beneath it is even older, tucked between two blank sheafs as though it was purposefully hidden from sight. Its script is scattered like raindrops, widely spaced in a shaky hand.

05.11

Dear daddy

i ♡ u and i wish u were here now. your always in my mind and my heart but i wish i culd say bye. i feel sad at chriStmas and easter and evrybody in the family and gabriel misses you too 

The notes pile atop of each other until each one blends into the next, a mountain of cream and white, gold and ivory, poetry and prose, bloodstains and tear stains and coffee stains, ink splattered across parchment and note paper until the words spill down the pages.

Sitting beside the bin is a shredder.