The Trashcan

It was not the best of feelings, being the go-to point for every discarded thought.

It felt more dribble than drool really, more decay than manure.

This is where thoughts come to be ignored till they disintegrate to become the force behind an irritating sneeze.

That didn't seem like the best of reasons to exist.

The thoughts that were usually sent to it were sad, depressed things at times. At other times they were gruff, snarling, angry bandits who didn't particularly like being relegated and were not at all shy about letting everyone know about their discontent.

The would create enough rocus to start a head-quake or start a civil unrest with help from other disgruntled elements in the system.

Those types of thoughts were usually the first to be quickly executed with any assortment of thought tranqilizers within ready reach.

Alcohol, drugs and other modes of escapist measures have been applied at various occasions to suit the size of the unrest.

It sighed at the tasking nature of its calling.

'I suppose it could be a good thing,' it thought to itself. 'Youre not entirely useless; there's some sort of need in there somewhere, so alow yourself todays ration of a smile old fellow, and enjoy delivering the cursed service of being the gaol that holds discarded thoughts... 

They all think they hate you, they all think youre useless, the thought hate you for existing and she regards you with all the love a mollusk would feel for salt,  but where would the useless thoughts live if you didnt exist? And just imagine how hopeless the thinker would be if she had no place to banish worn thoughts to...'

And with that spritely bit of pep talk, the Trashcan gave its "lodging available" sign a brisk rub, hung it on the tip of a sturdy thought tree and hunkered down to wait for its next inmate.