Iris

...in the garbage that day.

I had come around back to take out the trash. It hadn't been a special day. I don't think there was anything that would set this Tuesday apart from any other Tuesday in my life. Although I'm probably sure it was set apart for you. You couldn't have had too many good Tuesdays, especially not with what you told me when you were able to tell me things.

I didn't notice you until I had gotten close to the Dumpster. You were unconscious, so there was no sound to go off of, and you were covered in filth, so there was no sight to go off of either. It was just me and that alley, and of course the trash bag which seemed to get heavier by the second, so I tossed it in as soon as I could. I had just turned to walk away and, here's the funny thing...your hair saved you. You always told me afterwards that you were getting tired of the long hair, that you wanted to maybe cut it short and look sort of normal, and I begged you not to. Because the length of your hair was what helped me find you in the first place, and so I couldn't bear the thought of cutting your salvation short.

It was sort of snaking out from the trash pile to the side, and I thought that was weird. I was worried that someone had tried to cut their own hair and ended up with a disaster. Nothing but pure curiosity drove me to inspect it. And then I saw the way that the trash bags on top of where you were were moving slowly up and down...like breathing. And before I knew it, I was throwing bags off of you, revealing more and more of you with each one.

And you were so beautiful. I could hardly believe it.

I rolled you over. You hadn't been breathing in the trash fumes, which was good, at least. I mean, you must have been breathing in some of them because they were all around you, but your face wasn't mashed into the bags and that was a small miracle. I wouldn't have wanted you to go through the pain of an infection or an infestation. You were already broken enough.

Your face was covered with dirt and mud and scratches. Your lips were blue. Your eyes were closed so lightly a breeze could have opened them. Your hair was stuck mostly to your forehead and your neck with sweat and some other kind of moisture. I remembered with a start that it had rained last night. I hoped to God you hadn't been out in the rain. But even as I prayed silently, I knew you had been.

I had to press my thumbs to my eyes to stop from crying.

I couldn't even tell what color your clothes had been originally.

I remember managing to get you out from under the trash bags and dragging you the most comfortably that I could. I had your arms over my shoulders. You were unresponsive and I was terrified. My heart beat quicker with each step. I brought you into the house and that was all I could do before I called in a broken voice, "Mum!!"

My mother came running. She saw you and she shrieked a little but in the end we got you into my room and stripped you of your dirty clothes (I looked away) and got you into the bath (I didn't participate in that part). We cleaned you the best we could and my mum got to work on cleaning your wounds. By the end of three hours, you were still looking very, very sick and bruised and cut up but I could at least make out your features.

I could make out the name branded into your collarbone.

Kellin.