Momma always told me I’d grow up to do new and amazing things.

“Be a doctor,” she said. “Study real hard and maybe you’ll get a scholarship at one of them good colleges.”

She was lyin’ to me, though. Momma did that, when she drank, which was all the time. I think she meant well, but I spent enough of my younger years cleanin’ her up and puttin’ her to bed that I didn’t worry too much about the future.

So I worked my way up. I worked real hard. It was tough, but stickin’ through ninth grade was worth the trouble. As I soon found out, most folks don’t remember jack from school after ninth grade, and they got no common sense besides.

So, I drove trucks. I cleaned bathrooms. I moved furniture and served lunches.

I saved up money, using nothin’ but common sense and a vague suspicion that just maybe Momma was right somehow. Deep down I had this hope, this idea, that maybe, just maybe, that dyin’ liver of hers imbued her words with some piece a’ truth afore kickin’ off and taking her with it.

I saved up my money and I bought the Plant. My very own, top-o-th’-line, high-technology Sewage Treatment Plant.

I named it Betsy, after Momma.

She didn’t smell too good when I first got there, but it got better as I locked down summa the problems she had; I was used to dealin’ with problems. So I cleaned her up and wiped her off and invested and outsmarted college-goin’ townies who thought I must be stupid just ’cause I don’t always spell so good.

And in the end, Betsy was a beautiful place, clean as sunshine, modern as a corporate executive sportscar, and the one and only hope of a city I won’t name. ‘Cause you see, I made damn sure the other sewage treatment plants suffered. For years I’d seen people make dumb decisions and thought, surely there’s gotta be a way to profit off’n a rich man’s mistakes. And I did. I made sure that those guys made all the wrong decisions at all the wrong times and got shut right down.

Eventually my sewage treatment plant was the only sewage treatment plant in town and it was privately owned, official, and bottled up with modern security measures too.

So when I called up the Mayor with a grin on my face and my feet on my desk, I thought about Momma and how proud she’d be.

The city was my city, the whole thing…

Unless, y’know, they’d rather be knee-deep in their own raw shit.

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One Response to “Sewage”

  1. deathbychiasmus Says:

    I like it. The narrator’s got a strong voice. Usually when something is this good the thing to do is be like “write more!” but this one is pretty self-contained. Although I dunno, maybe there’s more you can do with this character. Dig into his past some more. I like his story here at any rate.

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