It Smells Like...
What it smells like written in prose.
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
It’s familiar.
I can’t quite put my finger on it.
It smells of my childhood friend’s house.
What it smells like I can’t explain.
Perhaps if I could try I would say it smells maybe a mixture of dog and child?
It smells of clean socks.
Not clean laundry, no.
Clean socks. Just the socks.
They have a certain smell.
I haven’t seen this friend in years, although she was my best friend.
Only in primary school.
Now she wouldn’t recognize me.
I probably wouldn’t recognize myself either.
I have a smell too.
Probably a mixture of anxiety and some musky scented deodorant.
She could probably recognize my scent.
But I changed my laundry detergent, so probably not.
Her dog smelled bad.
He smelled like dog.
His name was Gator, and he was very big.
I wonder if he’s still alive.
About the Creator
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Chaser
“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But truly, for what reason, would someone want to scream in space? What about space makes you want to scream? Is it overwhelming, the endless amount of stars and existence? In all honesty, the idea that space is infinite freaks me out sometimes. It makes me feel so insignificant. Oddly enough some people find that comforting. You seem like the type that finds that comforting. You and your crew have been hurtling through space for twelve years searching for our planet. You’ve dedicated all those years and even more before, studying and preparing for your arrival. After all this hard work, you’re finally here, and you want to scream. Tell me captain, why do you want to scream?” She gazes into my face like I have the answer written on my forehead.
By Anna Schroeder2 years ago in Futurism
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