This post is written for Sunday Photo Fiction.
Helen could smell death before she entered the strange contraption. Little did she realize that it would be her own death.
It was an oder she recalled vividly. The call had come from a neighbor of her fathers. His windows were closed and he had not been seen for two days. Even at the age of eighty-five her father had been an active senior. His daily walks were a common occurence in the neighborhood.
It was Mrs. Cullen who called. “It’s your father. We haven’t seen him for two days. I called the police. You had better come.”
A policemen exited her father’s front door as she arrived. She pushed back against him as he tried to block her entrance. Then the putrid smell almost brought her to her knees. She knew she would never be able to purge that smell from her memory.
The door closed. The ride started to spin. She realized as the smell enveloped her that it was the smell of her death. The looks on the other occupants confirmed that they too smelled their pending death.