Trash Can

So hey there, I'm a trash can. Lived my whole live at the park doing absolutely nothing but hold onto people's unwanted trash. Though I'm just a black piece of plastic who nobody actually cares for, I've got dreams. To become a better thing. To become useful. But when I look at myself, dirty and old, then back to the busy city outside with well dressed people and many more attention-worthy objects, I'm once again faced with the truth I know won't change. I can't.

"Hmm, so today's project is something important to the society," I mutter, tapping on the post-it pad with my baby blue pen. My phone's now buzzing with messages from class group chat. Almost everyone wants to write about how innovative and useful technological devices are to us now, some even accusing others of "stealing their brilliant ideas". How original. However, I want to do something different. I look around, hoping to find something that will inspire me. Palm tree, frangipani, bench, another tree who's name I can't remember, rock. Urgh, mind block.

A few minutes have passed, still don't know what to do. I find myself chewing on the plastic lollipop stick that's been in my mouth since I've reached the park. Holding it between my index and my thumb, I take it out of my mouth. I drag my feet to the nearest trash can and drop the stick. Just as I'm about to turn and walk away, I realise something.

Oh my gosh. Why's that girl looking at me like a creep? I've got other kids look at me before, saying that I stink, or that I'm dirty. Nothing nice. But this girl seems different. There's a spark in her eyes. Positivity. And something I can't recognise.

Come to think of it, this guy's pretty cool. It just stays in here and holds our trash yet nobody really appreciates about it. Or even notice it. I can't imagine myself being a trash can. It's actually not an easy job keeping our place clean by sacrificing itself. I take one good look at the trash can and sigh. Must've been hard on this guy. I scribble something on my post-it and paste it on the trash can. I fish out my phone and take a quick snap before heading home, a spring in my steps.

Wha-? What did she do to me? And why did she take a picture of me? I know she pasted a piece a paper on me but can't she just throw it in? And I wonder what she wrote on it earlier. She seemed rather proud of what she wrote.

When I reach my humble abode, I take out my laptop and begin typing. "Something important: Trash can. I think this is something that not a lot of people will put as their answer but come to think of it..."

An hour has passed by and the weather changed. A strong gust of wind blows and the post-it drops off. It lands on the floor not too far away, facing up. I squint my eyes to take a look at those tiny words on the bright yellow paper. It read :

"Trash can, not trash can't."

Subconsciously, I smile.

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"Sometimes people don't realise

how great they are.

You just have to remind them."

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