The Scent of Death

Prologue

I dropped the book on the floor, paying little attention to the noise it emitted when it found its cruel destiny. I was concentrated on the cold on my bare feet while walking on that concrete floor, in the forgotten and dark terrace. Every step I made, the anxiety intensified in some way I couldn't explain with simple words.

Looking up I noticed a group of clouds, that seemed to be dissipating, covering parts of the sky that was not allowed to be appreciated. I preferred to believe it was a beautiful night sky, as the light of the moon seemed to try to open up to me. I liked the idea of imagining the sky had countless stars. And my imagination flew away once more, even when I knew that this was not a time to escape reality like I always did. After all, reality was in fact as cold as my soul at the moment. Frozen, like the night itself.

When I got to a certain point, more or less half way, I glimpsed an abandoned wooden chair that looked pretty much normal yet old, and a blanket hanging at the edge of it. Very surprising indeed, like if the stage was already prepared for me. Somehow I suspected that after a while, I wouldn't want to be sitting on the cold concrete floor of that ghostly place. So I sat down putting the blanket of light grey colors on my legs to cover them and got my right hand in one of the pockets of my coat, pulling out a ball-point pen of blue ink. Also I took out a blank paper and folded gently in half, pretty quiet. I recognized that I was having difficulty because my hands were a little numb. I wondered in that moment if I could write without effort, but I decided not to think so much about it since that would ruin the atmosphere that persevered in the whole terrace from the very beginning. If I started with the doubts, the perfection would disappear, simple as that. At such a thought I left aside the questions like "how do I express myself?" or "will someone understand why I must do this?", because in truth I wasn't expecting the answers to be of importance. The only thing that interested me was that all of it would flow and come out naturally.

It was just at that second when I noticed how the light intensified, so I looked up, to discover a full moon flooded with light, and a sky without stars was there for me. It would have been my favorite picture, but the gray clouds were still there. These had given up in part at least, and let the moon help me, for I needed vision. I smiled, feeling a little dumb. However, five seconds later at much, I felt a slight shudder going through the back. The feeling was familiar like always, and my reaction involved only the movement of my eyes, without moving any other muscle of the face. I looked forward with eyes wide open, feeling observed once again. I decided not to try and look around me, as I was accustomed to that feeling, and only payed attention to a few meters of my position. There was the edge of the terrace, with a railing of iron bars thick and numerous, taller than me. Looking beyond, one could notice that some of the other building -not so high as the one I was- had some lights on. Considering the hour, it wasn't normal. Any person more or less healthy would be sleeping if not wasting their time at the computers. I looked at my hands, wondering if only I was doing something like this in the world. Then, rejected the idea quickly, for I always hated the idea of seeming selfish.

Almost sighed when I realized that I was getting distracted, as I found myself counting the lit up windows of a building chosen at random. This time, didn't smile. I rested the tip of the pen on the paper, which I held with some of the fingers of my left hand. For some reason, now it wasn't so cold. I looked again forward, expecting to surprise someone trying to approach to me. I remember that in other occasions, I didn't feel that cold in that terrace. Besides, in those situations I had seen her in that place sometimes. And now I was alone. This was the moment of my decision.I knew I could not ask for anything more than this. The loneliness and the inspiration... I Looked at the paper distinguishing a slight blue color making appearance on it. My hand just started moving without a single warning. The anxiety was strong so I created a block in my mind, completely ignoring any physical and non-physical stimulation from the outside. And so I started to write while I remembered. After all, those words were my farewell, letting me out of that prison. I needed to be awaken so badly.

All of this to see her again at last. Why did she leave me to suffer alone?

"Wait for me..." I muttered.

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