Smell (of death)
I smelt his death the minute I saw him. It wasn’t his gaunt expression, the
coughing up of blood, the weight loss, it was something more. A slightly
inhuman smell, of rotting vegetables, or a thousand dirty nappies festering
in old water. Of all the smells I have encountered, that was the worst. I
had smelt death. I knew it, he knew it, we all knew it.
I came in on Monday and he was gone.
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~ by saul1664 on January 28, 2010.
Posted in Short Stories
