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Most people refuse to believe that trash is anything besides a waste of time and effort. Trash is the product of used materials with nothing left to be used in the common man's eyes. When they stare at the result they feel nothing behind those eyes a steady pace of neutrality hits in heavy succinct waves of boredom. Lack of care, lack of effort, lack of anything is what they feel when they see scraps of metal and fabric tarnished beyond saving due to the pre-made label of 'trash' that is engraved in their mind. Common people believe that the trash that they create daily is worth nothing compared to them and that their own bodies are not the first form of trash, infecting everything in a 10 mile radius. The beauty of nature, the well loved torch with months left to be used another day, the slightly torn teddy that needs only a singular stitch to look indistinguishable to the day it was on the shelf behind sturdy well polished glass, the clean bright hues of the affirmed uniforms seen without a tear and smudge constantly washed and thrown out at the sight of a dust particle. The everyday waste of the Sphere was abhorrent. Spherites do not know what true trash is until they reflect on themselves, individuals unable to breathe and exist without looking to their owners for permission to even speak. Trash that doesn't understand the molecular value of everything around them that their shirt can be mended loved and treated well and that it is completely useless to treat those objects as something to be thrown away and unable to afford a new shirt anyways until they are paid by those who look down on them. Each piece of physical trash was sent off to a room. Rudo, and others like him, were accustomed to that room and how it worked as a scavenger. Those halls were instinctive and each passing corridor felt like a vein in his body that the blood navigated through he knew which spots were viable for trash raids and which rooms to avoid and how the guards moved. Regto has always scolded him for his raids however the irresistible piles of ever-growing trash caused him to drool and every time he had snapped back to reality post day dreaming of trash piles, he landed back in front of the rooms.
Rudo was in that quiet room again. The sheer size and choice of a monotonous white coating the walls and floor made it feel as if he was an ant facing against the towering figure of man opposite him. The Man itself being a tall regalia of trash, trash that looks near perfect and new. Beautiful piles of artefacts, unnecessary to leave the Sphere's ground as it can be repurposed for those in the Slums. Clean clothing of which can be torn and sold for fabric or even altered for those to wear naturally only a single oil stain can be seen on the hem as the boy twiddled the fabric between his gloves, the stain unmoving neither smudging or leaving the steady spot it had held down for only a few hours. The floor length mirror that stands next to the dress is more offending to the boy, the glass is near perfect with slight dust collecting on the surface. His reflection is seen through it in true perfect clarity: A runt boy hunched over with trash up to his knees stands opposite, burnt and dirtied clothing hangs over its frame and makes it look smaller than what it is, appearing more as a rat covered in a rag before being thrown out. His face and hair however are obscured by the large hood and fabric that covers its identity. However, tuffs of grey ends stick out from the hood creating a false persona of an older individual rather than the swift juvenile it may be. The boy reaches out to the mirror and held it by the frame finding its fatal flaw, the breaking point that the owners could not deny no longer, its ghastly appearance that offends those within those pristine walls to the point of instinctual disgust. And yet where he looks he finds nothing. The mirror itself is perfect. The boy takes both sides of the mirror, its rectangular shape creating an easy grab for him as he lifts it up, taller than him by only an inch or two he views himself and the bottom of the mirror. Once again, no flaw was found in the mirror. Its beauty is undeniable. It was rare for him to find trash that has no problems in it. He always thought that everything had a flaw, it only depended on if that flaw was too much to ignore.
He could only admire, wide eyed and mouth agape taking in the smell and appearance of the clean beaut in front of him. Not his reflection that looks ghastly but the rich wood that was rare within the trash. Each groove defined and polished, well loved by whoever had them prior a whiff tells of the polish being applied at such a regular interval that it stuck within the wood and could be smelt even days after the last polishing. Each groove had a hypnotising pattern that trails across the length until interrupted by the sharp angle that sends into another spiralling pattern. Closing his mouth as he swallows drily at the beauty. Tongue too big for his own mouth and his throat burns the more he stares at the gorgeous wood Rudo took a step back, wobbling from the newfound weight in his arms. The burn that took up from his elbow to his hands from the heavy and sure weight of the mirror as he shakily placed it on the ground away from the other trash. Looking at its tall frame, himself only shorter he realised that to grab anything else and this and to make a quick escape could be impossible. He knew something like this wouldn't sell but the beauty of it that entrapped him made it impossible for him to resist it and to leave it behind. This was trash untouched by the filth that sits outside the building, this was an item loved and touched by somebody who cared for this item. It now however sits in a room waiting to fall from an impossible height, taken apart by wind and other falling trash and to sit amongst a tower of others twitching and gasping for a chance of surviving as the mirror sits broken and torn to shreds, wood splintered beyond saving and the glass spread across the supposed landscape of trash unable to be truly pieced back together without a deep admirer to take each fractured piece of glass and put it back together in admiration.
Taking a hold of the upmost part of the frame, they tucked it under their arm gliding above the floor scraping it when the shoulder is relaxed too far. Making sure the mirror is held affixed in a tight underarm grim flushed with his body Rudo slowly opened the door. A loud guttural creak is emitted from the hinges echoing across the room and in the following hallway. Rudo could only account for the mirror and its deep breaths as it made its way across the building. Each footstep heavy with the added weight and his faraway consciousness made it difficult to be sure of where he was going. The undeniably crisp air with pure white structuring made it impossible for Rudo to be able to discern where they were and how long time has moved. However, one thing that they were able to be alert to in the eerie quiet of the elongated hallways is the mirror. Singing sweetly, undeniably attempting to entice Rudo to it closer, the low but audible hum vibrated across the walls, ringing in Rudo's bones as they clenched their jaw as they continued to trudge across the hall hauling the singing mirror that spoke to him.
Slowing down as the weight of the mirror begins to cause his side and back to ache each muscle straining and begging for release and for him to drop the mirror and to run back home, back into the arms of Regto until their next scavenger raid. His feet plant in front of the door to leave the building staring at the stainless steel door in front of him before he turns and stares at the mirror, eyes wide and dry unable to close the mirror begging for them to continue to stare. The wood and glass stares at them despite its inanimate form the glare of the mirror pierces through Rudo's body, and the faint hum of the mirror begins to garble attempting at words and language rather than a hum. Speak ' me ' sing ' it all lasts. Sweat beads at his forehead as their hair begins to stick to his skin, it's ears begin to ring isolating themselves with the mirror only. Despite the prior emptiness of the building Rudo now felt he was evermore alone. Trapped with this item stuck to their side. 'Ear it be ' hear me ' lost lo' it yer be true'.
The longer he stood the more their body began to clam up, heat clinging onto his body as sweat continued to collect under his thick dust filled fabric sticking it to their skin. As the sweat continued to build up stronger layering itself in thick waves as the mirror's voice began to sing louder until Rudo's ear's began to finally pick up the song that it was singing, each line growing in strength. Until it reached a screaming pitch of absolute clarity. Hear me, speak to me, You hear Me with true clarity unseen amongst men here. Listen to what I have to say, speak to Me.
Dropping the mirror in absolute panic, he dropped to his knees in front of it, their head tucked between their knees as a scream ripped out their throat. Pure anguish reached Rudo's ears as tears began to fall out of burning eyes as waterfalls escaped him as the mirror's operatic song began to cause their mind to melt out of their head. The words, nothing short of peaceful, were damaging his mind the anguish and love that were entrapped in the mirror had caused Rudo to fall for the beauty of it. Unaware of the damage it will bring upon it.
How can you be afraid of me? I am all the anima that could be found in this part of the Sphere, the collective foundation of all loved pieces of trash that could be loved on this cold-hearted part of the world. Have you naught heard of the words spoken by Us? We speak to You and those of a similar nature to You. Son of Surebrec heed my words. Something is approaching Your way and It will not stop until You have succeeded in what You came to accomplish. Look towards the sky and You will see Its demise with rage encompassing Your eyes. Do not get blinded by Their failure, keep looking ahead. Keep looking up Son of Surebrec It is all You can do in this life. If not today, It will be tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, another cycle.
Jerking his head from between his knees he began to loudly gasp in air as if he was drowning in the words. The soft but destructive voice of the mirror is fading out of his memory as he looks around at his surroundings. What had once been smooth walls of bone had been drastically shifted to the crowded filth of the Slums. Shakily looking around further he noticed that he must've left the mirror within the trash rooms. The dark barely lit streets of the Slums further told him of his own delay, Rudo last remembered leaving in the early morning trailing after Regto to go to the other side, but now the tell-tale signs of dusk with the setting light and the faded stars above remind him of the time wasted in his fugue state and how the mirror wasted petty hours from him. Standing on their own two legs watching as they shake and bobble unable to grip onto the floor as if a baby deer they staggered to the home with Regto.
Relaying the last few supposed hours with the mirror the most daunting thing stood in his head. The underlying emphasis on the use of 'us' when referring to the mirror meant that it had to include others. The most terrifying idea was that in those trash piles there have been countless amounts of trash, trash who had enough spirit within them to carry out an ability to speak and to talk to others. They knew that Regto had talked about the cycle that taking care of their gloves would bring, but the idea that something that could be discarded can still be a part of the giving cycle is groundbreaking to the boy. Something that it couldn't grasp however was the word 'anima' tugging at their damp gloves they pushed open the door to the makeshift house, seeing Regto propped on the couch eyes full of confusion and worry made them forget all about it. Explaining where he was to the worried man who let out teasing words every few scolding comments took priority.