Beneath the swirling soiled waters of the toilet bowl, down past the maze of u-bends and countless pipes, deep in the darkness of the sewers sits the home of the unwanted, the golem of waste, Throawae.
Every hope, every dream, every wasted moment. When such things are cast aside they are forced to wander about the sewers lost and alone. When things are thrown out of sight, out of mind, they are thrown into a mind of their own. Sooner or later their blind stumbling will bring them to Throawae and he accepts them with open arms. Once you've kicked them out of your mind, he is there to welcome them into his. His body is made of time, his limbs are made of unwanted truths and his nails from the shards of broken promises. He sees through forgotten dreams and speaks with the low voice of an inconvenient conscious.
But why should I bother to describe Throawae to you? You already know what he looks like. After all his pieces were once your pieces. We create these abstract ideas like truth and love out of nothing but imagination and breath life into them. However, everyone at some point or another will abandon one of their creations: in an attempt to drop ballast, to enable an excuse, or sometimes simply because it hurts to much to keep it around. Despite our reasoning we cannot help but feel guilty for what we've done. While we can run away from our ideas, the guilt remains to link us to the past. A stain upon our subconscious.
It is no wonder people find him off putting. Not just because of his looks, nor even the smell of rot and waste emanating from him. No, it is what he represents. What he makes them remember. So he is ignored. Or at least we try to. Every once in a while we cannot help but to see him peeking through a sewer drain, or rummaging behind a garbage can, and then that ping of remembrance reverberating the hollow where what we've given up used to reside.
So Throawae sits in the company of himself. Waiting to hear another cry from the tossed away, lost-their-way. But every once in a while he'll get a visitor of a different kind: someone who's realized their trash was treasure and needs it back.
This is where I come into it.