Strangers on a Train – Part 6

The Funeral
My eyes are closed. I don’t remember closing them. The air around me feels different: cold and sterile. There’s a smell in the air I can’t identify; not at first, anyway. Then I recognize it. It’s the smell of hopelessness. A wafting odor that exists at the threshold of death. A symphony of smells that srceams, gunshots, explosions, and the like would be sounds for the ears. They bring no hope. When I open my eyes I know where I am before the heavy fog blanketing my vision even clears up enough for me to see.

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