Trent

Shrectzberger's Landline

Trent waved his cap to old Mr Shrectzberger. He had been sent to this house by his boss to see to the dead landline complaint.  Turning up, he noticed that the handset cord was unplugged. Old fucking idiot. "Aah! Found your problem sir. It's good that you called us before it worsened."

The company paid per hour spent with the customer, the past two hours had been spent by Trent opening up the entire box and unscrewing every part possible, looking analytical and engrossed. Mr Shrectzberger looked satisfied. With his gray head and freckled cheeks, he easily looked over seventy years old. The moment he saw him, Trent cried with ecstasy on the inside. The outside was calm, just like, much to the confusion of his coworkers, always. As he finally got up, Shrectzberger offered him tea. The two struck off a wonderful conversation. 

Trent had that gift- he could talk and charm anyone into taking his word as gospel.Shrectzberger was no exception. Within thirty minutes, he was telling Trent his secrets and the story of his abandonment. Trent looked really deeply into his eyes and was in tears when he ended. Tears were his forte. No one can ever guess your camouflage once you shed the token tear; and Trent used it pretty frequently.

Walking away now, Trent's mind was bursting with countless new possibilities- he had found a new companion for his journey.Shrectzberger's ticket might have been one way and with the assurance of a rough landing, but he was a definite passenger on Trent's airbus tonight.

Meet Trent Hart, bored electrician stuck in the same job for the past 2 years. Trent has many friends at work but seldom joins them for any parties. They find him to be quite a chirpy guy, always helping others and nauseatingly good to elders. He had been bullied countless times at work, being called a sissy and a fag for being too gentle, yet he didn't mind the rants. He was a magna cum laude graduate from UC Berkley but had settled into the life of an electrician at an uninteresting company with the excuse that it helped him stay peaceful. Trent is the picture perfect grandson- somewhat. His affection for the old is really helpful to him. Helpful in ways the mind can't fathom, in ways the mind doesn't want to fathom. 

Trent reached home and dashed towards his favourite wall. The wall was covered in A4 picture frames containing images of a rose carved into the canvas. The canvas was flesh. Human flesh. Trent lit up a cigarette and got to work. He had to rearrange his collection- a new addition was about to be shipped.