The Uncle

Photograph of a bulb hanging in the garage.I used to love to linger and breathe in the scent of our cluttered garage, and of Dad’s old pickup always parked there. Traces of carbon monoxide mingled with the must of old things for an aroma so seductive it was the suicide of choice for folks hell-bent on finding an easy way out. The coroner said too much booze made Dad pass out before he cut the motor that night, but I never believed it. Later on, the smell I came to hate most was his cologne-drenched brother who often came to hang out and play pinochle with Mom.

Ron Hartley is a writer of short fiction from Brooklyn. In another life he was an art director at four New York advertising agencies.

Photo Credit: John R. Southern

7 Responses to “The Uncle”

  1. Zannie Rose says:

    draws you in..glad I read it, though subject matter is sad

  2. Sean Brann says:

    This is great. I don’t want to figure out whether it is a story or a poem.

  3. Kirsten Love says:

    Brilliant. Such a deep dive in so few words.

  4. Sandie Scott says:

    Wow, how to infere and describe and feel so much in a short 100 words.

  5. Jana Joujan says:


  6. So well written! So much insinuated. So much happening between characters in such a tiny space.

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