A Stench.
Hello, boy. Was it you?
Morning rises, like it did three weeks ago. It was raining heavily on its first lap, and we both witnessed sleepily that it rose without its usual soft-spoken brilliance. That night, I fell into a deep sleep, but not before capturing the sight of you disappearing into the distance for your usual midnight stroll.
Now, the weather is too dry, and I see too many things around our house. The day welcomed me with the putrid smell of something dead, and perhaps hidden behind a bunch of forgotten things that we'd given up on clearing and cleaning, because I could not see anything out of place from what our house has always been.
It sends me unease. You never found your way back home, and I could never find you. What was I to think of this scent that grows stronger the farther I open the entrance to our home?
And I still can't find where it's coming from. Is it even you?
It's hard to bear. Were you alive still, just two days ago? I couldn't find you, if only I did, at least two days ago.
But no one really knows where the smell is coming from. Just, surely, something died, somewhere unfound.
