Before you fellow readers and writers begin this edited story, I wish to state my opinion of how well written and descriptive this story, written by whoadrep08, was . . . one of the greatest stories out of several others I have come across on this site. I advise you, as the readers, to do plenty of research on a specific topic you are writing about like whoadrep08 had done by seeing the movie WALL∙E three times per week . . . which beats me seeing it five times less than six months. It will help your story become a success.
The story idea rightfully belongs to whoadrep08
WALL∙E is a 2008 computer-animated science fiction film produced by Pixar Animation Studios and directed by Andrew Stanton.
I am nothing but a humble editor . . .
Earth, a world long forgotten, a once terrestrial beacon of life now scarred by its former inhabitants and their artificial leavings, now an impurity floating around in space, a ball of garbage so to speak. Such an ironically laughable thought that it's the only known habitable planet in the known universe, if anyone could've seen it now….
However, no one can or ever will again, now that it is by definition: devoid of life. An entire planet with absolute zero population, the former twelve billion inhabitants left their mark, or marks seen from space by new landscapes made entirely of garbage, if the atmosphere had any visibility that is. Even the air is subsequently thick from pollution and the landmasses are almost unrecognizable. Entire continents covered, reshaped, and transformed into a combination of tundra and desert like wastelands solely by plastic, paper, and metal waste; every city now giant junkyards, buried by mountains or towers of trash if seen from afar.
Here, in the Buy 'N Large, Cleanup Sector NA-001, formerly known as New York City, it is barely what it used to be like by the humans who lived here. The once mighty iconic buildings of downtown Manhattan now dwarfed or were buried by the even taller copious numbers of towers made entirely of trash cubes, thousands of feet high and stretching on for miles in all directions. The once water filled bays of the Hudson now dried up polluted valleys by the receded Atlantic. Old buildings and bridges mostly rusted and eroded away by the etchings of time, nature, and man's impact. Garbage and the howling volatile winds is the only predominant feature present in the once recognizable metropolis …but it's not the only thing in this hellhole.
A faint but clear chirping of music sounded, like a whisper in the winds of the dead city. In the distance, something moves amongst the heaps of trash, traversing the streets, a single human.
Maybe it is not so devoid of life...
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A lone human male walked around the avenues of trash towers, strolling across the desolate littered streets carrying out his job, or known as "directive." The sound of music emitted from the man's playable yet eroded and abused with slight static ancient cassette player gave the only sign of life in this place.
He stops near a small, ancient mobile compactor nearby, one of many around the Sector, wielding a shovel in his heavy-duty gloved hands, begins scooping a pile after pile of the land's indefinite filth into the device, and activated it. The sound of its obsolete and worn hydraulics grinding as it compresses the garbage into a cube echoing through the streets, not silencing the sound of upbeat happy music. The compactor opens and spits out a one by one meter cube of junk, weighing roughly fifty kilos. The human then picks it up with practiced ease and carries it behind his back. Another life form, a mutt canine, follows right behind him. After some considerable climbing and carrying up a height of trash, the human finally stacks the cube along with others on the top of the trash tower.
The human pauses for a moment, leaning against the cubes trying to catch his breath from such labor. He wore a very old, ratty, and dirty coverall jumpsuit, its bright yellow cloth now coated with stains of dirt, dust, grime, sweat, oil, grease, and god-knew-what other impurities he was covered in. His name, Wally, barely readable on the similarly worn red patch explicitly roughly stitched on his left breast side, its letters BNL all but faded. He stood five foot and seven inches, and looked in his late twenties to early thirties. His exposed areas of skin had a sun-bleached shade of light brown from the dust and unforgiving sun, his dark brown hair an unruly mess akin to a dust mop.
He looks back up to the cubes in front of him.
"Huh?" Something caught his attention, a shimmering object from one of the cubes. He grabs it, it doesn't budge, and he tries harder, grunting for more strength, still nothing. Yanking on it with his feet on the cubes, pulling with all his might, the iridescent object finally breaks free with a sudden force that Wally falls flat on his back. He sits himself up and simply stared at the object he pried free, just a circular aluminum trash lid.
Huh? he wondered how something so simple would make him work himself to just know what it was, such curiosity he had.
"Hal!" He whistles for his canine companion to come with him, back down the one thousand meter or one three hundred, nine thousand feet of trash tower in a spiraling makeshift ramp, slowly making his way smoothly but at unease at the sight of a long way down to the streets below.