59 comments
T/W: Depictions of a dead body, read at your own discretion.
“The stench of death.”
Why do they call it this? Death doesn’t stink at all. I try my hardest not to breathe it in, but it’s there. It’s clawing at my nose, settling on my tongue, filling up my throat. It leaves me to choke. I’m frozen by the smell and helpless to escape it.
Couldn’t I run before?
Couldn’t I walk, crawl, jump, and dance?
Why can’t I move now?
These legs are stiff like hardened concrete.
My chest raises with tiny inhales, small, like cool sips of water. One right after another, to keep on living. I have to. I can go on living. Not like her. The smell of death isn’t as horrible as they say it is. I want it to burn my nose like acid. I want it to make me gag with tears in my eyes. I want it to stink like rotting food in a garbage can. One with spoiled milk and dozens of putrid hard boiled eggs.
So why… why does it smell sweet?
The scent of her rose shampoo haunts my airway. Her skin smells like lavender lotion. It’s to soothe her. Lavender is a soothing smell. Good. She’s calm. She’s at peace. Why is there an even deeper smell coming from her? It pours from her body, slow and steady, a sick sweet smell. Go away, I want to tell it. Go away. — YOU — go away right now. It’s not her smell. Don’t you get that?
I touch her hand and it’s warm. Is this another part they got wrong? Who is “They” anyway? All these experts who know things. Why is it all wrong then? Wrong. Wrong. WRONG. Her hand is warm and she feels like she is still in there. She could be in there. I lay my head on her chest. It isn’t moving. Oh god, why isn’t it moving?
Oh… right. It won’t move once you aren’t inside your body anymore.
Here are the breaths again. Sip, sip, sip. In and out. Small, small, small. I can do this. She would want me to do this. I’ll do this for her then. I’ll keep breathing no matter what. It’s hard. I can do it. It’s so hard. It’s like pushing a car up a hill with no help at all. Can someone help me push? Will anyone help me push? Why am I doing this all alone?
Please… please don’t make me do this all by myself.
I curl my fingers around her fingers. I pretend they're curling around mine too. Any second they will.
Any second they will.
ANY SECOND THEY WILL.
ANY SECOND THEY WILL.
They aren’t moving.
Aren’t they going to move?
I listen for her heart beat. I won’t hear it. It’s silly to try. It’s silly for my stomach to coil like a snake, wrapped around its prey, tightening and winding until it suffocates. It makes no sense. I prepared for this test already. Pencil scratching on paper. The clock ticking on the wall. I prepared months ago. We did the fire drills. L O U D screeching from the intercoms. Ringing and ringing, the kind that stabs your ear drums like a hot metal rod. We had plenty of warning. We were warned. You can’t complain when you get a warning.
You can’t get angry.
You can’t get sad.
You can’t get scared.
You can’t
You can’t
You can’t
Be ungrateful.
You have time. We had time. We had all this time. Where did the time go? It can’t be time yet. Are you sure? Don’t be sure. Take it back. Take it back, I said. I’ll do anything. Please, you can’t be sure. I need more time. We need more time. We all need more time. She needs more
t i m e.
We...
We aren’t…
We aren’t ready…
Don’t you get that?
I tuck her hair behind her ears. She likes this. Her hair is stringy. No matter how many times we wash it, it’s the thin brittle hair of a dying person. I stroke it a few more times. She could be sleeping. She isn’t sleeping. She could be.
She isn’t a dying person.
She’s a dead person.
Dead.
It’s okay.
You can say it.
It’s good for you. Feel it out. It’s an unbearable weight, but you have to carry it. You will carry it. You’ll never stop carrying it. This weight can never be lifted. It’s alright. Shh. We all go through this. Other people have gone through this. You can go through this.
I touch her cheek. It’s soft. Shouldn’t it be hard or flaky? Isn’t dead skin something that’s supposed to make your skin crawl? Why does her skin feel like its always felt? I kiss her cheek. This was a mistake. More of the syrupy sweet smell is in my nose.
I can’t stand this.
I can’t take this.
I start to shake her. She will wake up if I shake her. Her head nods to the side as I shake her arms. Her shoulders heave as I push her body. She’s really sleeping hard. I shake her harder. She only moves when I touch her. She only moves when I move with her. She can’t move by herself. She can’t move by herself anymore.
Oh.
She’s like a doll.
I came here for something. What is it again? I need to tell her something. I pick up her hand in mine once more. I pet the top of it with my other hand. I pat it a little. This must be hard for her. I want to make it easier. I have words that are going to make it easier. I’ve been working on them for a while now. I have the perfect thing to say. Once she hears these words… all her hard things won’t be hard anymore.
I need to tell you something.
It’s too late. These words roll around in my head like a bowling ball.
It’s. Roll... Too. Roll… Late. Roll...
You can’t tell someone something once they’re already gone.
My legs work again. I leave her. I don’t mean to leave her. It was never my plan to leave her. For months the plan was to sit right next to her like a guard dog. I’d slip apple sauce into her mouth, sweet with cinnamon. I’d dab at her bottom lip with a napkin. Gentle. You have to be gentle with someone when they are dying. I don’t know how I know that. It’s just a feeling. I’d want someone to be gentle with me.
I’d wash her with a fluffy rag and soapy water. Soap that smells like lemons. A clean smell so she feels fresh. I wanted her to feel fresh. Did she feel fresh? I have to tell myself right now she felt fresh. You get that, don’t you?
I had it all planned.
I had time to plan, so it was all planned.
Step by step.
At the end of it, I planned to be holding her hand. Why did I leave the room? Why did I think I had time to leave? Why did I think I had time to come back? Why was I thirsty?
I can drink water
a t a n y t i m e.
Why did I go for a drink right then?
I can drink water for the rest of my life.
She can’t drink water.
She’ll never drink water again.
W h y d i d I t h i n k I h a d t i m e ?
I missed it.
The last breath.
What about the plan?
Why am I leaving again now?
Why can’t I stop running?
It burns.
My ribs burn.
My legs burn.
My eyes burn.
My feet burn.
The air out here smells sweet too. I run past the honeysuckle bushes. Their flowery smell grabs at me and asks me where I’m going. I am going. I have to go. Rocks cut my bare feet. They slice and leave indentions. They push inside the soles on the bottoms of each foot. They want to get inside me. I want to tell them they can. I want to be hard. Hard like they are. I am too soft for this.
My skin is too thin.
It’s barely holding my heart inside as it bangs against my chest.
My heart screams… let me out.
Let me out.
Let me out.
LET ME OUT.
BANG
Flutter flutter
Flutter
Flutter BANG flutter flutter BANG flutter
BANG BANG flutter BANG flutter
Flutter BANG flutter BANG flutter
BANG BANG
… You get it, don’t you?
I stop at the rose bushes. I heave at the rose bushes. Vomit comes out thick, chunks of peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It splatters my feet. My throat is raw. I wipe the burning acid from my lips with the back of my hand.
There.
That’s better.
It stinks now. It smells repugnant.
This is how it should smell.
It’s just — well, roses are stubborn. Their sweet smell mixes with the smell of vomit and it makes me want to tear their petals right from their stems.
So I do.
I pull at their velvet petals with hungry fingers.
I rip. I crush. I tear. I smush. I take them and make them… into something ugly. Everything should be
u g l y right now.
It’s not enough. I pull harder. Their thorns bite my fingers warning me to stop. Warm blood trickles down my hands but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I want the smell gone. I won’t stop until I can’t smell anything at all.
Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush Rip Crush Tear Smush
It’s not their fault.
I sink to the ground. I pat them with wet bloody fingers. Fingers that say they are sorry. They are sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry. I did a bad thing. I made a mistake. They’ll forgive me won’t they? Won’t they forgive me? Can I be forgiven? I pat them some more just in case. You never know — sometimes — these things can be over looked.
The dirt kisses my thighs with mud. When did it rain? That’s nice. It’s important for it to rain. It helps the flowers grow. She told me that once. I can still hear her say it in her voice. Her voice rattles in my head like a mouse in a cage. Pitter patter, soft and gentle, chitter-chatter, warm and safe. A gentle melody lulling a baby to their sleep.
I’ll never hear it again.
My body shakes and shakes. I can’t stop the shaking. It starts in my hands, moves to my chest, and comes out in broken sounds from my throat. Broken, jagged, sounds.
It scares the birds away.
Their wings flutter as their little bodies hurry away from me. They must worry about the frightening noises clawing their way from my mouth. What is this terrible noise? They take to the skies. Flap. Flap. Flap. This sound could be danger. Flap. Flap. Flap. Better find somewhere safe. Flap. Flap. Flap.
Take me with you. That’s what I want to tell them, but they are already soaring into a gentle breeze above me. I can’t reach them anymore than I can reach her.
More…
— broken
jagged —
— sounds.
Warm hands grab my shoulders. I am being lifted. I am being carried. My nose is buried into a sharp shoulder blade and I am suffocated with the scent of fresh spring soap. The same warm hands grip my legs.
Step. Lurch. Step. Lurch. Step. Lurch.
I don’t fight it.
Anyone can carry me as long as they carry me away from here.
A warm rumble comes from its chest, deep and slow. I can’t make out what it’s saying. I cling to the shoulders. Please — shoulders — don’t let me go.
I cry wet tears into the lightweight fabric covering them. It’s okay. It’s a small offense. It can be forgiven. I cry some more and the damp stain grows larger. It’s okay, they’ll understand. Shh. It’s okay, they’ll understand. Shh. It’s okay, they’ll understand. They get it, don’t they?
We are on a cold hard porch, my body snatcher has set me free. I refuse to leave him. I curl in his lap and he pets my hair. Soothing sounds come from his chest. Sounds have stopped coming from me at all.
Pet… stroke… stroke… stroke…
Pet… stroke… stroke… stroke…
Pet… stroke… stroke... stroke…
Our touches are loud sometimes. Don’t they say many things? Do you think she knew those things I wanted to tell her before she died? Do you think she heard them every time I brushed her hair? Do you think they came out when I fed her apple sauce? Do you think they got through to her every time I washed her with lemon soap? How about the times I curled my fingers in hers and we watched reruns of all her favorite shows? Do you think my touch told her things I never got the chance to say out loud? Do you think she knew?
Do you think it’s okay that I was too late?
Do you think she gets it?
Pet… stroke… stroke… stroke…
Pet… stroke… stroke… stroke…
Pet… stroke… stroke… stroke…
It’s the warm rumble of a chest again, as it trembles with words. I make out what they are saying this time.
“It wasn’t your fault, you’re okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
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59 comments
Very beautiful and poetic writing. The prompt was followed brilliantly well, and then you allowed the MC to descend into a grief-fuelled delirium. Was very dream-like in parts. Importantly, the human element of losing a loved one tied the whole thing together perfectly and prevented it from becoming too 'out there' or psychedelic. Really amazing work. Also, some funky formating going on there which was super effective in parts. Nice job.
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Tom — Thank you for your well thought out and kind comments. To be honest, I’m very new to short stories. I’ve been writing and releasing in poetry for decades. It comes out sometimes in my other forms of writing now that I’m trying to grow. I notice you say the odd format is effective “in parts.” Would you say constructively in other parts, it’s less effective or confusing? I do wonder. Things come out and to you it makes all the sense in the world but leaves a big question mark on those around you. I appreciate you connecting with me, ...
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None of it felt ineffective. I may have phrased that badly. I think the bit that stood out to me the most was the 'flutter bang' part. It was just very striking to see that technique in this format , and on this website. It felt almost pictorial. Ironically, it gave the text a more visually striking layout, which opposed the story prompt. Kudos if that was your intention
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Using sound effects visually, I’m a rebel. This was very helpful. Thank you for taking the time!!
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No problem. It was a great read
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You were right - we are on the same wavelength this week. I felt a bit like I was reading a sequel to my own story in a way. Grief is painted so well throughout this whole piece. In a way, I find grief has the power to highten your other senses. It's like your vision goes blurry or goes on autopilot and all of sudden, smells and sounds and tastes and touch take you somewhere else. I really felt the MC at the beginning, becoming frustrated with her smells being wrong. I imagine that is so common. I felt the moment the MC thinks about time, an...
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I agree, we do seem to hyper fixate on all the wrong things. Maybe it was a sense of control. You know what's coming. You prepare yourself in all the ways you can. Its "supposed" to be this way. Yet when it comes, it's never quite the way we thought it would be. Like so many things in life, you can never truly prepare for them. Only ride them out with an ocean of gratitude for all the things you had while you had them. Thanks for taking the time to read and I am sorry for your loss. PS you are an angel for catching my typo.
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Absolutely. What else do we have but to hold onto anything under our control. Grief doesn't make sense at all. I still have my mother, so we are in that waiting period, and you are right, gratitude is weaved into all of it, but nothing makes sense either. It is like an ocean, riding the highs and lows. I'm sorry for your loss, too, Danie.
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Grief is so well encapsulated in this story. The fragments of thoughts, the repetition, the guilt meshing with the destruction. I love the way you have really focused on the sense of smell for this. What death should smell like and what it actually smells like. I am sorry for your loss, this story has the ring of authenticity and rawness of emotion.
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Michelle — I remember it being quite a shock to the system. And it didn’t really matter how logically I thought about things, my mind turned into a broken record player. Repeating and skipping thoughts. I tried to capture that here, albeit a bit artistically and possibly hard to understand. But that’s death too, hard to understand. Thanks for reading!
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Good work writing an entire story without using visualization until the end. A lot of gut wrenching sensations. Is she a zombie or arisen from the dead? Or is a metaphor for something ? Also good work with the creative formatting, I didn't know that was possible on this website, I'm going to try that soon. I had read A Visit from the Goon Squad recently which had a lot of experimentation with formatting, even an entire chapter written in PowerPoint slides.
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I feel like everyone kind of infers their own meanings from the things they read. As for me, I pulled from an experience of where I lost a loved one to cancer. It was a slow decline. We knew it was coming but helpless to stop it. Even if you know what’s coming, it’s still a shock when it happens. I guess by the end of it she was a shell of a human, that can appear kind of like a zombie. Thanks for reading.
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That's sad to hear, and must have been v difficult. I understand the story better now.
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All of that context was very clear to me. The epitome of Show Don't Tell in this story, really.
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Audrey, thank you! I was a little worried I went a little too far off the reservation this week. I’m glad it all made sense!!!
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Very good tension story. It's like I was there but wanted to get out too.
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Rose — Sorry I tore off your petals in this story. Thank you for reading and connecting with me anyway!
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Ha ha 😂 That action of tearing off petals was seeringly potent.
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🥀
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Ouch ...
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I remind you that I think your writing is outstanding and some of your stories are wonderful. This story is brilliantly conceived but I object to the methodology. It’s an extraordinarily sad story, and the repetitive sounds may help convey that sadness, in any case, it’s a story and a topic that provokes thought and consideration. To me, writing that the ground is ‘muddy, muddy, muddy,’ is not nearly as effective as writing that your feet were stuck in thick, black, sticky, sucking mud. It’s a peculiar and baffling phenomenon that as wr...
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You win some, you lose some. Not everything is everyone’s cup of tea, that’s for certain. Ha! Thanks for the honest critiques. And thanks for the compliments, I thoroughly enjoy your point of view. 😊 Thanks for stopping by!
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Hey Ken — on a totally unrelated note, I have a story I actually took off here that I’d be curious to get your feedback on if you have time and are interested in reading. It’s thriller/horror but don’t feel pressure! You’ve already given me so much helpful honest feedback. If you are interested I can email it to you. No worries either way. K bye!!!
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Sure. Why did you take it off here?
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Hi Ken, I took it down because it was a dark twisted tale and I got too to shy to leave it on my page so I made it POOF ... disappear. LOL If you have some time to read it and share your thoughts, you can find my email in my bio to email me and I'll email it back to you. Thank you for spending so much time with me this week. <3
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Hey I was just reading your latest story "Say you're sorry", and then it disappeared! What happened?
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Hi friend! It was a bit too dark to have posted on here I decided so I took it down. Everything on my Reedsy page is posted under my real name and that story felt like a bit too dark for friends or family to stumble over. I didn’t want a pen name originally but now I’m not so sure. 😅 I will never say no to feedback though. If you are still interested in reading it, feel free to reach out to me on my email in my bio and I’ll send you a copy. Sorry about that Belladona!!!
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Hey no worries! Initially I thought it was a glitch or accidental delete (I deleted my very first readsy story by mistake a while back and then couldn't recover it). Yes, it's completely understandable! This is the main reason for a pen name, it's so helpful I believe. For example this my pen name and it gives me some extra freedom to write anything. Writing helps me deal with my PTSD, and even writing in a community is a big step for me so pen name is like a shield haha. Yeah, it was so interesting to read, I would love to finish reading ...
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In hindsight I should have just changed the name on my page. Oh well 🤦♀️
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Unrelated, happy I found you on here. I write for all those reasons too. It really is an uplifting community here. 💜 I hope your writing is helping you heal
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Danie, the authenticity of this is both breathtaking and heartbreaking. It took me back in time to the day my dad passed away, how desperate I was to bring him back--the visceral, uncontrollable urge to cry, scream, run. I was knee-deep in denial, even though I knew it was coming. A poetic portrayal of grief. Stunning work!
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Frostie, I can see you really do understand what I was trying to convey in this piece. It makes me thoroughly grateful and at the same time, I really wish you didn't understand it at all. I appreciate you taking the time to read through this and connect with me on it.
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You capture the shattering grief very well! It leaves me wanting to know what happened and who died maybe in flashes throughout all the panic and sorrow. You write very poetically!
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Thank you for reading Rama! I focused more on emotion and the universal theme of grief more so than the identity of who was lost. In the moment, she wasn’t thinking about who it was, rather than that, it’s the denial that the loss has actually happened. I felt this was most authentic to her situation. Grief is a curious thing. I’m grateful for your comment!
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oh wow I read this on my phone last night, so I only got a partial sense of how the formatting complemented the poetry of this piece. Now that I'm viewing it on my monitor, I can truly appreciate it. The BANG flutter especially helped me feel the narrator's grief looking for release. Can you tell me how you convinced the text editor to preserve the spacing for those portions? (No worries if it's a secret.)
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Robert, I adore you for going back and taking a second look. The formatting is a bit messed up if you try to read it from certain places, I noticed that too. In answer to your question - I cried, kicked my feet, and silently begged the formatting Gods and still couldn't get the format to completely obey. I fussed with it until I found a compromise I could be satisfied with on this site. (Kidding, mostly. I copied it over from Microsoft Word and some of the format stuck and some of it didn't. I kept scooting things around until it captured m...
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Beautiful writing, flow and formatting. Although sadness, mourning and grief are certainly not enjoyable, somehow you worked your magic again and made it enjoyable to read. You made us empathize with the grieving character. This week I read a graphic novel and at some points in this story I felt like I was reading another graphic novel, with these sound effects and big and small letters scattered across the page. I like also how you use the senses from the prompt, and you strongly attached them to emotions to make it memorable. Nicely done!
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Hi Belladona, great to hear from you this week! Truth be told I read a ton of Manga, Manhuas, Webtoons, etc. It doesn't surprise me that some of it slipped into my writing. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and connect with me. Looking forward to more stories from you as well!
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It's wonderful to see this influence! Everything we read, see, hear and feel influences our writing so it's quite nice and creative process. This past week has been a lot for me at work, but I plan to finish this week's story before Friday and upload it, I am working on the prompt with the security guard. I find it very fun to put some dystopian ideas again haha, we'll see how it turns out!
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Yes, absolutely. inspiration comes from everywhere all the time. I love your perspective!
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Danie, This is a powerful, raw and brave( both emotionally as well as structurally) piece. The sensory details are overwhelmingly visceral. They capture the survivor’s guilt so well. Well done!
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Thank you so much for reading and connecting with me! I did go a little off the beaten path this week. I’m glad you enjoyed it!
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This was more of a poem than a story, and I thought it was a great submission. I really liked the repetition, and the physicality of grief from the outside world on her. And I was amazed by the formatting. The reedsy site does not make innovative formatting easy! So good work making it appear the way you wanted it to appear to emphasize your writing. Thanks!
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You are so right. Squeezing this format out of Reedsy was for sure a colossal effort. I do like to be creative. Thank you so much for reading and connecting with me!
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Very poetic and ethereal, full of raw emotion and written in such a unique and captivating way. The grief was strong, the way you have turned into in this is powerfully creative, down to the formatting. Brilliant entry Danie, look forward to seeing more of your work.
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Kevin, Sometimes if you hold on to thoughts too long, they turn into poison. Writing is a great way to set them free. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and connect with me.
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Very nice, and very sad. The story evokes powerful feelings of shock, with the hyperfocus on sensations and the confused moments where reality doesn't line up with expectations - right from the musings on the first line, regarding aroma - and also hits a powerful, impotent anger. Anger at the unfairness of things, of there not being enough time, anger that's in turn, unfairly taken out on the rose. But we understand it perfectly. And underneath it all, of course, there's love and loss and guilt. All these feelings are present at the same t...
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Michal, first of all I think it’s important for you to know that I love your brain and the way it breaks things down into easy to digest analytical bits of information. These critiques from you are incredibly detailed and very helpful. Where were you in college? Anywho. I threw out the rule book for this one for sure. I took format as a light suggestion. I appreciate your honest feedback. It was a bit brave to do so I’m still not sure if I have gotten away with my crime. Guess I’ll find out. 😅 Once again, I adore you for catching my typo...
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Incredibly powerful.
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Melissa, thank you so much for reading this story and leaving your thoughts behind for me to find. Best, Danie
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So very powerful. Raw. You threw every emotion at the page, and the force of it shook me. I think the unconventional format lends itself to the unpredictable nature of life and loss and pain and healing. And I hope you keep healing ❤️
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Nina, wow. Thank you for the praise. When I took a closer look at the format, it kind of seems like the moment a heart breaks. Then, at the end, when she’s being comforted, it’s like a heart starts beating again. Maybe I’m the only one who sees that though. Like pet - stroke - stroke - stroke feels a lot like the rhythm of a heart thumping. A heart coming back to life. It wasn’t her fault, and she isn’t alone. So it is like you say, unpredictable in loss and healing. Thank you for reading and connecting with me. It means so much. And for...
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Fine work. I am paying attention to the poems this time also.
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Philip, Thank you so much for taking the time to read!!
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My pleasure.
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Oh wow, this is such a visceral, powerfully emotional experience of grief and loss. Very poetic. I was there even though I didn't have much information about the context of the situation or the characters in the story. It was all raw emotion and I was in it. Thank you.
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Audrey, your comments mean so much to me. Some weeks I try to have fun and other weeks I try to let go. Grief is a hard beast to tame.
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Understanding completely. Death is so hard to understand. Even when expected doesn't make it easier. Only the hope of what awaits the soul on the other side makes it palatable. Good job on the smells,etc. Sorry for your loss. Thanks for liking my Where the Wild Things Aren't
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Mary — yes, exactly this. I appreciate you taking the time to read and leave your thoughts!
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