Things of wood, stone and metal that appear to have reached the end of their useful life, either obviously broken or simply worn out through use. A noble death or an ignoble ending? Either way, their time has come and gone.
The ultimate dump. Not broken or burnt out. Not abandoned with a vague hope of rescue. Dumped. The sort of item that might give you cause to pause, even when armed with an extra-long barge pole.
There’s something about certain deaths which, in that first instant of an encounter, whisper, ‘Come on, take me home with you…’ They’re not usually broken nor dumped but rather abandoned, possibly out-grown (they are often toys), offering a sliver of hope, the possibility of being taken up again and loved.
Self-explanatory really. The sort of death which prompts the slightly bewildered response of ‘What the…?’ – possibly quickly followed by ‘Why?’, ‘Who?’, ‘When?’ and even ‘How….?’. Not your everyday dump.