Stench

The stench never ceases. Even through the din. Through every battle, every bitter and terrifying experience. It follows me through the trenches. I smell them. It’s the smell that’s more grotesque than any sensory experience. We see to see, feel to feel, but I was forced to smell. I spilled the contents of my stomach in a subconscious effort to retain my sanity. Coughing and sputtering, reeling in an insane wave of shock and fumbling. My skin, close to erupting. I still smell them. Putrid, horrible. Often times I find myself at the mercy of a toilet seat.