Where Do I Begin. ( HxH - Reader Insert )

.:1:.

They say the scent of death is one impossible to forget.

The sickly sweet scent of decomposition beginning to set in was almost more foul than the thick smell of blood hanging heavy in the air, it was silent here, too silent. Walls that were usually filled with the sound of laughter, the clinking of forks against plates, and the quiet hum of music from the radio were now painfully quiet.

The radio lay broken on the floor, sparking every now and then from where it was still connected to the outlet. Broken plastic, wood, wires, gears, and bolts scattered the floor.

It wasn't the silence that was the most heartbreaking of it all, it was the lack of sound where there should have been, perhaps it doesn't make sense. But should one stand there, in a house once filled with warmth and the heartfelt busyness of ordinary family life, suddenly silent, cold, and devoid of intimacy, one would feel it too. It was unsettling, in a way that was hard to describe, like a school at night is the best comparison one can draw.

Halls that would usually be abuzz with activity, and flooded with natural sunlight, suddenly drowned in darkness and silent enough to hear one's own blood pump through their ears.

That's what this was.

That's what all this would ever be now.

Amongst the silence, amongst the occasional buzz of the broken radio, and the haunting whistle of wind bellowing through the window left slightly ajar - there was the quiet trickling of liquid meeting liquid.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It was deafening, suffocating over the sound of silence, over the wind and the buzz and the quiet lull of the streets outside, the dripping stood out.

It came from the closet, a wardrobe tucked safe against the wall, anyone would look over it should they take a tour of the house, no one would bat an eye. Not with the way the house used to be. Today, though, it was different. The source of the loudest noise in the room, was the boring, inconsequential cupboard.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

They say the scent of blood is one impossible to forget.

The sour, metalic scent of blood in excessive amounts seeped putrid into every room, there was no escape from the smell, not even the slightly parted windows helped.

Not even the closet blocked it out.

The dark enclosed space, the blanket of security the locked doors had once provided, it was different now. No longer the hiding space frequented in a family round of hide and seek, where muffled giggles once leaked through the gaps in the doors now came muffled sobbing. It was stuffy there, clothes that smelled like home, clothes that smelled like a mother's embrace held no comfort now. Not like they should. The smell only brought another onslaught of pain, another onslaught of heartache, what once brought comfort could only bring more grief.

The crack between the closet doors streamed light into the enclosed space, as a child, you used to find it comforting - that there could be light in even the darkest of spaces. But as of right now? You wanted nothing more than to seal the crack and lock yourself inside the wooden cradle until the end of days came.

Perhaps it was a grim thought for a twelve year old, to be so young yet know so much of death. No child should be faced with something like this, no child should be locked away in a dark closet as their only form of safety, shivering and muffling their cries of anguish from the outside world. To stave off fear, a child should be wrapped in the arms of the person they loved most, they should be hidden within a warm embrace rather than tucked away in cold wooden walls.