Smells of Sadness


I find smoke a familiar scent.  Log fires of old.  Coal of industry.  That Vichy smell of oil and burning flesh.

But it’s different this time.

Made out of stone, I do not fear the flame, but I smell the salt of tears as if I were placed near the sea.  Don’t cry, little people, for time is long and your lives short.  I was made to protect you, to give you comfort, joy, and peace.  Don’t let me haunt your dreams, for I would be better consumed by fire than drowned in the sadness I swore to stave off.


This week, I chose to do my prompt showcase on Thursday so as to make use of a Wednesday prompt!  This was written for Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday, and I’m thrilled to see that I got to respond to a Parisian tragedy through this prompt.

If you want to join in on a prompt, Bikurgurl’s photo-based prompt is easy to join in on!  Just leave a pingback to the post.  Make sure to tag your response with 100WW or #100WW so others can find it!

21 thoughts on “Smells of Sadness

    • H.R.R. Gorman says:

      Thanks! I was a little sad to see it in flames, but I couldn’t help remembering how fewer of my friends cared about the NZ shooting than this fire where no one died. I don’t think a church would want that, assuming a church had any feelings.

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