#222 ~ Death by the road side

I had never thought death could smell so powerful. It rolls like a boxer’s punch, assaulting the nostrils and gouging on the eyes till they alight on the lost creature. Fur slicked with what seems to be sweat, but is really the decomposing cells of the deceased body as they take on Hades fever, death runs its chillingly warm hands over the body, pressing its stench further out into the heavy, lugubrious summer air. I don’t know what carrion smells like. I didn’t know sorrow had a perfume. But roadkill has a sickly, sweaty, pungent stench which catches at the back of your throat, but doesn’t ignite the vomit reflex. It just sits their, ugly and oozing its own puss down your throat, turning your neck back towards the sweat slicked carcass hidden in the underbush. You wonder when it will stop lying there, when it will stop smelling and polluting your fine summer air, when it will stop catching at the back of your throat, clinging to the knotted curls of your hair, slicked back with the sweat of summer air, or could that be…

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