October 5th, 2009

typo

No idea where this wants to go...

We had been walking for a few hours when we came upon... the smell.

I know we shouldn't have been walking there. Mother had always warned us. But once you've crossed the train trestle and made your way through the big dark woods by leaping from rail tie to rail tie, you don't turn back at the field of flowers.

Even if the snow is steaming.

It's mid-summer, it's hot, of course the snow is steaming.

Though it does smell odd, for snow. For a field of flowers covered in snow. For a, oh no, what is that?

Steaming. Stinking. All white, everywhere.

And it's getting hotter. Maybe not snow.

Maybe... no... but... what was it? What did Mother say?

White.

Smell.

There are crows everywhere, but I can't hear them.

Looking up, the sky is the color of a dead monitor, the color of all the little rectangular screens on standby in the morning, a metallic brownish grey.

It smells like a sea of milk, sour-sweet and salty.

White.