olfacoception.

***

I can smell death.

"You see, I think you have to stop thinking of those things, you know? 'Cause when we overthink, we tend to create problems that are not even there in the first place. Do something to distract you. Think of happy thoughts. Make friends. Don't be afraid to do something new."

I give her a nod.

"You're making me worried, really. Just... Just get a hold of yourself, will you?"

I smile at her and give her a nod.

"Also, I'm always here for you. I love you, and don't forget that, okay? I have to go right now. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

I smile, give her a nod, and hug her when she opens her arms widely to me. "Bye, Cassandra. Thank you." I whisper.

"Bye. Take care, Sam."

We parted ways. I start walking down the road.

I can still smell death.

I know Cassandra loves me, and that she's trying her best to make me feel better. I know that she's sincere with her words. I know that.

But somehow, my demons won't believe it. And after hearing Cassandra's words, I know that I don't feel any better. I'm feeling worse, even.

I can smell death.

Today is just a bad day. That's what Cassandra has told me. That I'll be fine, that I'll be happy tomorrow. She told me things, encouraged me, and spent time with me.

I appreciate it but I still can smell death.

I stop from walking once I saw the bridge. There aren't any people around 'cause it's already eleven in the evening. I look over the bridge, at the water, at the night sky, at the city lights. I feel the summer's cold breeze brush against my cheeks. I listen to the city's distant noise.

I feel alive but I still can smell death.

All my life, I've always smelled death. At first, I thought of it as a curse. I would try to smell some things, those that have fragrant odor, but then it was the smell of death that would always linger. People hated the smell of death. They told me that it has a foul odor, and that when they smell death, they would always stay away from it or cover their noses to avoid the scent from entering their noses.

But it's different for me. At first I felt the same way... but as years passed by, I realized that I couldn't avoid the smell of it no matter what I do. Then, as years passed by, I learned to get used to its smell.

I can smell death and I learned to love it. I accepted it because it is the only thing that can make me feel better. I feel like it's a part of me.

Death smells so good to me now. It smells like my mother's saturday morning pancakes, or like my sister's shampoo, or the flowers in the next house, or even my first love's body spray. No... Death even smells better. Its scent is addicting, something I can't forget about, something that lasts within me even though everything else already left.

I take my phone from my pocket and dial my mother's number. At the second ring, she answers and asks me of my whereabouts. I listen to the sound of her voice and hot tears begin flowing through my cheeks.

"I love you, mom." I say and abruptly end the call.

I can smell death. And it's even getting stronger now.

I touch the railings of the bridge and feel the cold pierce through my skin. I feel so alive. My heart is beating rapidly. It's getting hard to breathe now. The tears just flow continuously.

I can smell death.

And it smells so sweet to me.