Memories by scent - accepting
Granted the corpse’s sense of smell is not what it once was; most senses dulled and practically useless, there is still enough if only to gain subtle whiffs of what still lingered in the air around. Perhaps alone he would not notice, yet the darkened patches over cobble and small puddles gathered between rocks is a clear sign of recent rainfall, such that actually causes the man to stop in his tracks and observe. His chest heaves slow, and even that hunk of metal he so often sported is being lifted carelessly off a grim visage, allowing only but the air around to grace his senses.
Some sense of familiarity drudges within, but why shouldn’t it? This was his home, after all, it always has been and always will be no matter the terror he once struck. Damp grass and stone filters up with a new scent one would not catch without the rainfalls blessing, and without the same the Earth would not be cleansed of the filth that gathered so quickly. Bloody soles and crimson palms are washed clean, the mixture of iron and rain creating but the most harmonious of smells, something NEW, something invigorating, and it left the man who once held a beating heart to stand still, to soak in the natural waters and allow his own crimes to wash away without a trace.
Yet now, he stands, the morning after fresh rain and he is not of the man he once was; not anywhere close. He no longer breathed, he no longer held a pulse, and he no longer found joy standing beneath falling waters ‘least he wish for his flesh to rot and fester if that much quicker. Soaking in the remembered aroma is all he can gather now, yet, it seemed clear as day that it was, if only for the moment, enough.