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Vanishing Point
Driving home one night, I noticed an animal writhing in agony by
the side of the road. I impulsively looked into the rearview mirror
to reassure myself. In the dark back seat, my sleeping son's faint outline
and the sound of his steady breathing eased my sense of foreboding.
But the image of the wounded animal haunted me. The next morning, I
re-traced my route to where I had seen it. Beside the road a large bag
of refuse lay carelessly discarded. A gust of wind lifted the dark plastic
and it fluttered and writhed.
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