Some powerful descriptions here, though I feel there is so much left untold that you need to continue this… Keep writing.

This is based on my own experiences. A “trash-out” is where people come and throw away everything in a house that’s been foreclosed on. If the inhabitants are still there, then a police officer will determine what is “salvageable” and it gets set outside the house. Everything else is thrown away.

Dreary and poetic - “…placed her life in the right-of-way next to the road”- that’s an especially poetic way to describe someone standing by the road. It tells you so much more, and influences you to think deeper than if it was written in a purely prose kind of way. It takes something mundane and simple and makes it complex and emotional :) And that sort of thing turns my dials.

Good all around work as well, Rose. Dreary, though darling in it’s own way.

Oh my, how painfully beautiful. And true. And heartbreaking.
One thing, you mention her father once as being shot up and the next time as on his way. I feel like this wouldn’t be the same person, but maybe that’s just me.

I spend most of my time writing poetry – glad some of that is showing. Dreary is good – the event itself is very much so. Sad, emotional, tragic. Thanks Tad!

Dearest PJ, in regard to the sections you referred to:
“her father and his girlfriend shot up heroin”
and
“her mom was in prison and her dad was on his way”
…what I meant was her mom is in prison, he dad is on his way to prison – resulting from the earlier mentioned drug use/abuse. Thanks for the comment… going to revise it a little to clear that part up.

Oh, that makes sense! I’m a little hazy :3 I love this still :)

There’s a lot of powerful stuff here, but it was hard for me to figure out the relationship of the female and the narrator. I think he’s part of a cleanup crew and she’s a young girl? And he commits suicide at the end? At first I thought they were adults in a relationship with each other.

Anyway, as well-written as this piece is, I feel like maybe you’re telling the wrong story here. I want to know more about the narrator, what he goes through with his job, what he’s struggling with so deeply. It’s not that someone losing their house, their way of life, isn’t worth writing about … but it seems like the narrator is the one losing more.

I am the narrator.
It’s a story about misplaced guilt – that’s the emotion I’m trying to get across.

I’ll see what I can do about defining “her” as a little girl… rereading I find I never actually make it clear her general age… Thanks! Edit imminent.