Stepping on snails

Stacey crept forwards across the wet grass towards the slouching factory.A mini disc recorder stuffed into his puffy black jacket and a directional microphone in one hand. He was out scrounging for sounds and samples.

The first steps down the path he was now walking, were made as a bored kid waiting at the bus stop to get home from school. He sat on the texta scared wooded slate seats, long after the other kids had disappeared, trying to fit bad ryhmes to the monotone drone of the buses revving engines. Mostly the engine rev's were way too fast for him, but once in awhile you'd get a driver who would push his foot down and up on the pedalin impatience, creating a pulsing beat stacey would bust a few lines too.

A few days later he brought his dad's dictaphone and a 10 minute tape his brothers shitty punk band had used as demos. He taped the bored drivers beat and went home to do surgery with sticky tape and scissors. Looping the tape into itself he could practise for hours.

He stepped over a feeble excuse for a barbed wire fence that was rusted and had half collapsed. Eyes flickering around the darkness, he edged towards the wire grate set in the grimy yellow brick walls of the fertiliser production plant.

Stacey's hobby with sound soon deepened to obsession when he inherited a handful of computer disks from his brother, filled to the brim with pirate music software. His elder brother, with a headful of akward brown spike for hair, said
"you can have these, we had a few go's of recording with them but they are dodgy i reckon''
"maybe you're just stupid" stacey quipped, the eternal little brother.
'oh, i thought you wanted these' his brother replied, slowy pulling the disks back.
'sorry'

After a few long hours of frustration he was on his way to becoming a neighbourhood character.Crouching near your lawn mower with a mic in hand and headphones on. Or in the city recording the ryhmic plastic bumping of the train station entry gates. Or the hurried march of leather business shoes on the melbourne pavement.

Out of the grill in the factory, issued a sound, like kitty litter falling onto a metal floor. Not at all cool. For a fertiliser plant stacey was looking for some gross, wet, hideous slurping noises.He walked along the building to another grill, the wind began to whisle, he hoped it wouldn't effect the audio.

He'd been at it for around two years when he had his great idea.He had become a vegan around six months ago and was watching all sorts of disturbing battery farm documentries. He wondered if all the horrible shrieks and animal cries and conveyor belt rattles could some how be turned into something beautful? Could he collect the sounds issued by these polluting modern monster factories and twist them, distort them and sculpt them into something he could hand back to the human race? A small token to make up for the horror, pestilance and pain they caused. But quickly he realised that music made from these factories waste noise should not leave the listener at ease. Rather filled with rage and ever increasing anger.

The next metal grill offer similar kitty litter noises so he stepped quietly towards the back of the building. The wind brought a smell so rank and caustic in it's claws that it immediately brought tears to stacey's eyes. 'shit' he mumbled to himself blinking them away. The only thing that could smell that raw was, he leaned around the corner and peaked, a bubbling ditch filled with an almost glowing lake of fertiliser run off. Whole empty barrels bobbed up and down like rusty corks in the murky sea of bubbling residue. The wind still whipped gentle waves of fumes strong enough to singe your nose hairs.

Stacey crouched down low and pointed his microphone at two men in business suits who stood near the new river stix and a small bobcat earthmover.
'well it's bloody cheaper bill' said the taller of the two. He looked like his apartment probably had free gym membership.
'i know that but in ten years the land will be toxic' said the other
'make sure you sell in nine years then' the tall one boomed with an aggressive slap to the bill's back. Stacey's mind raced ahead of him. He'd call the cops, he'd call the EPA before beavis and bill had time to bury the evidence. He took a few careful steps in retreat and with week old vegan microfibre shoes stood on a huge mutant snail, that died with a sickenigly loud crunch.

Stacey shuddered right down his spine. He looked at the tragic mess that was once the snail, It's former home now just little brown daggers cutting it's soft green body to ribbons. He turned and ran.In moments though a meaty hand seized the collar of his puffy jacket, and was dragging him backwards through the rich black dirt. It seemed that the bigger business man, with less scruples, also played aussie rules and was quite the runner.

Stacey lay on the ground next to the contents of his upturned backpak and was confronted with the question 'who the fuck are you?''
'i'm just an artist and was taping sound samples to making into music!'he exasperated.
'well thats a new one, what did you tape'stacey's hands fumbled through the pages of loose leaf lyrics, past his mobile phone, to find the mini disc player and hand it over. Bill bit his nails in nervous apprehension while the big one listened to his own voice incriminating him.

He took out the head phones and shook his head at bill. Looking down at stacey he asked softly
' so we come to the most important question of your life. do you have a girlfriend...stacey?' he was reading the name from the stolen wallet in his hand.
'um...i did. together a year and a half but we broke up last week.' stacey said in a wounded voice.His large captor looked at bill again, shaking his head again
'Thats very bad for you stacey. Because while you look stupid enough to risk your own life, not many people would want me to rape and kill their lover, now would they?' He said almost laughingly, at the logic of it. He quickly added 'why the break up?'

Stacey in total emotional and expectational confusion just spat out the answer. 'well sometimes is say things that hurt her feelings, then i will apologise by saying something like 'i'm sorry i let myself say that' or ' it's hurts me that i've upset you' and she gets madder because i don't just say 'sorry, i hurt you'.
'i'm only uspet that i hurt her, but i phrase it badly i guess'
stacey sat looking at the big brute urging him to get it, forgeting the lake of pollution and his pending doom.
'What kind of weirdo faggot shit is that!' the big one said blinking to life. He added ' a few weeks ago my missus found out that i've been banging my ex on the side. She got all narky and upset about it, so i took her to a fancy resturant and got some nice jewelry and that's that.' 'you bloody kids and your fucking emotions.'

The tall guy reached out his hand and helped stacey to his feet.
'that no girlfriend is a peice of bad luck, amigo' he said. Stacey had almost agreed when the right hook knocked him out and sent him back snuggling into the rich black dirt. Bill walked over to his prone body.
'what should we do with him?' well you get twenty years for murder. But, motioning to the lake of acidic death 'that will cost around twenty million.' Bill silently took hold of staceys legs.

One. Two. Three.

they launched his body heave ho style into the toxic river. His head making a dull clank as it hit a rusty barrel before stacey slipped beneath the putrid surface of his final resting place.

The big murder bent down to pick up stacey's bag and musical master peices and yelled to bill to start the earth mover. As he held stacey's phone it beeped as it recieved a message. The killer laughed reading it.

' Hey bill tell the kid it's his girlfriend,
she's sorry and wants to get back together!'