276-word post, or “Empty Tin Can of Tin”

As his friends – full of beer and pizza – waited for him in the moving van, Max did a perimeter sweep of the apartment to make sure nothing was left behind.

Nothing behind the doors, the fridge, or the medicine cabinet; but when he looked in the tall linen closet in the hallway, he noticed a small tin can at the very back of the uppermost shelf.

He’d never used that shelf, as it was taller than he was and today was in fact the first time he’d actually thought to jump up to look back there since moving into the apartment 3 years ago.

He gave himself a leg up using the lowest shelf and just managed to tip the can over with his fingertips. It rolled towards him and he grabbed it and jumped down.

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However, upon opening the latch and twisting off the lid, he noticed it was full of screams. Actually, to say he ‘noticed’ is an understatement. He was bombarded by screams that pierced his soul, by wails and laments that he couldn’t immediately rationalize, and his only response was to shart and experience the shame that goes with sharting.

He put the can back on the shelf and left it there, never speaking of it again, because who would believe him?

Certainly, the can of screams itself couldn’t understand why no-one had filled it with coffee in 40 years. Cans don’t understand withdrawal, they only know they’re empty.

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