Death has a Scent

 

 

Death has a scent.

 

Jim didn’t used to think about death much until his mother remarried. It tended to be more or less relevant at the time the thought occurred. Things like whether death was better than living with Frank or if it would be poetic to die in his father’s car. He never thought of what death looked like or if he would fight when his time came.

Jim doesn’t have to wonder what death looks like anymore, doesn’t have to imagine what it would smell like. He no longer needs to ponder what he would do when faced with the end. Tarsus has answered all the questions he never asked.

 

Death looks like pale gaunt faces and pools of blood around stiff motionless bodies.

Death is lightly tanned with dark hair and a roguish grin.

Death smells like black mold and burnt meat.

Death smells like gun oil and spicy aftershave mixed with a natural musk.

When death comes for him, he bites, kicks, and claws his way past the guards. He runs until his feet bleed into the ground beneath him.

When Death comes for him, Jim runs into his arms with all his might. He clings and grabs and holds onto Death like it’s the last chance he’ll get.

When Star Fleet comes, death leaves. They promise the survivors food, shelter, and counseling.

When Star Fleet comes, Death goes. He promises to never be too far away and Jim knows he means it.

The Star Fleet officers drag Jim away from a mutilated corpse and don’t even notice that the gun on the desk is still warm.

Death plays favorites. Jim knows this. That’s why he asked to pull the trigger.

The few cadets that know Jim’s real name turn to each other and whisper that he’s cursed.

Jim kisses Death on the lips and it feels like fate.

Death has a scent. And as Jim breathes in the leather jacket of gun oil, spicy aftershave, and musk, he realizes something.

He misses Death…

He misses John.