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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