The Life of a Garbage Can



I’m mixed up. I’m crushed. I’m used as drums. I’m practically worthless. Recycling bins and compost bins have more value than me. They’re more organized. I’m a dump. A dump of trash. I’m basically nothing in this world. Dented all over. People use me, but not a lot. Why am I here? Do I have a sensible purpose?



It’s a windy day. I keep getting knocked over. Darn wind. I see lots of people with garbage in their hands. They don’t even bother to look at me seriously. The garbage dude drives by without even a glance at me. All alone, lying down, and no one to comfort me.



If only I was tidier, not dented and dirty. Just one glance at me and you’ll be disgusted. I just want to be known in this world. All the other garbage cans are even tidier than me. Yeah, a little jealousy going on here. They have a better outside. They have garbage bags in them. I’m just a dead, oversized tin can.



I’m rolling down a hill. Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow. I’m in so much pain. I roll into a ditch never to be seen again. No, just kidding. I just keep rolling until I stop at a dead end. The back and forth of the whistling wind rocks me like a baby to sleep.



I wake up to see a little girl putting me upright. She’s not like other people. She actually looks at me with heart. She stares at me like I need something. She carries me up the hill. She stops in front of a building and puts me down. It seems like it’s her house. She goes in and comes back with gray polish, a garbage bag, some paint, and some glue. She does all sorts of things to me. She uses the gray polish all around me. I’m starting to look pretty good. Then, she puts glue all on my rims, top and bottom, so I stay sturdy. She opens up the garbage bag and puts it in me.



The girl leaves me in front of her building and walks away. Now, I feel known. I sigh and look up at the sun. The start of a new day feels really great. I’m a new a person now. I breathe in the cool air. This time, I’m not going to let the wind knock me over. I’m going to stand strong. No, literally, she put glue under so I stay sturdy. Who knew?



The sun is about to set. People use me now. Not the way they did before. Before, they would drop their garbage in me, and sometimes they’d knock me over without even picking me back upright. When the sun went down and the girl came back, she had a big garbage bag in her hand. She put it in me. It just feels good. The garbage truck drives by and takes out the garbage bag from me. I feel relieved. I look back at the sky waiting for a new day to come.




3 thoughts on “The Life of a Garbage Can”

  1. Oh my the greater good of being so creative is powerful. I love how the “thing” called a garbage can was made to come alive.

    I enjoyed this story and is very impressed how the author exposes the skill of the thing, while revealing the excitement within!!!!! Kudos

  2. I love this story! It felt so humanizing and relative! The first paragraph drew me in. I wanted to know why the garbage felt less valued than recycle bins! New York Times Best Seller future! Keep up the great work Kayla!

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