The mound of trashbags in the back
of the station wagon meant we weren’t
coming back. In Missouri, Uncle Don
had a piano we couldn’t touch and a barn full
of newborn puppies we could see when he
was sure he could trust us. My sister wouldn’t
stop crying, so they locked us in the basement
to watch TV. That night, she snuck into
the bathroom and tried to figure out which
of Mom’s pills would kill her and which
would just make her sick. I’d be alone, then,
never to see Dad or our brother again.
About the Author: CL Bledsoe is the assistant editor for The Dead Mule and author of fifteen books, most recently the poetry collections Trashcans in Love and King of Loneliness and the flash collection Ray's Sea World. Originally from eastern Arkansas he now lives in northern Virginia.