45 Ymiden, 724
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Something was dead. Or dying. Kotton couldn’t be sure which, but he could definitely detect a strong odour belonging to something rotting. His sniffer first picked up on it near the living room, but he had also smelt it in the hallway near the bathroom. The hallway was easy enough to investigate since there were nothing but two walls and carpet, so he started there. There weren’t any holes in the carpet that may elucidate some underground system filled with decay and the walls weren’t smeared with faeces, so it only took him a few seconds before checking off the hallway as a possible candidate for the source of the smell. Next was the bathroom.
He was working in order of smallest to largest in terms of room dimension, as any intelligent thinker would. There were more places for things to hide in the bathroom, but that didn’t dissuade him from exploring each and every crevice. His investigation wouldn’t be a total loss either, if he managed to come up empty handed as to the source of the smell; he could use this time utilising his analytical eye to observe all the spots he wouldn’t normally see on a daily basis and find all the spots that needed some overdue deep cleaning. He started in the back corner of the bathroom, tracing his line of sight over the gap between the commode and the bath basin. There was nothing but three dust bunnies here. Next, he travelled his gaze along the ridge of the bath basin until it connected with the adjacent wall. There was nothing in this area either. He followed the line of sight until it connected with the perpendicular wall which housed the wash basin, which he found was in dire need of a good scrubbing. In the wash basin was built on crud from the many times he had brushed his teeth without flushing with water. But still, there was no reasonable evidence of anything that could give off such a grotesque scent, so his dark brown orbs hovered still, traversing the floor, the objects above them, the walls, and even the ceiling, until he had managed to canvas the entire area to no avail. The smell might have been strong here, but it was not located here.
Now that he had crossed off the hallway and the bathroom from the list of places the smell was coming from, the only thing left was the living room. This was a mightier task to complete since the room itself was almost three times the size of either of the previous rooms. Nevertheless, he continued to remain unperturbed. He needed to get to the bottom of this or else the disgust would remain and would ultimately drive him crazy. If it had been anything else, even the ostentatious scent of a young lady’s poor choice in perfume, he wouldn’t have minded. At least not as much. But with every whiff, Kotton pleaded he had been rendered without a sense of smell rather than deaf.
He hiked up his pants, which had been stained earlier when he had been casually kneading dough in the hopes of making bread, and pushed onward. Right where the hallway met the living room, the young man stopped. This was his starting grounds. Here was where the smell was stronger- stronger than in the bathroom and stronger than in the hallway, though it had tried to trick him in both places. His eyes narrowed, frustration building steam within his nostrils until he huffed hot air from out his nostrils. He was fixated now, dead set on finding where on earth this putrid aroma was coming from! He challenged elevation by taking a whiff whilst he was standing and then another as he plummeted to his knees. He calculated. The intensity of the smell was marginally different, which gave him no leads other than the fact that he was in the right room. He glanced to the wall to his left and was hypothetically felled by distraction.
”This place isn’t too shabby,” Kotton’s father had said as he waltzed into the centre of the living room. His eyes were squinted, his bottom lip pushed out as he scrutinized the size of the room and ultimately situated his gaze on the far wall. “Could use a paint job though. That colour is hideous.”
Kotton had scoffed then and rolled his eyes. “You don’t like pewtew?”
“Is that what the kids call grey these days?”
His father had plopped on the ugly brown couch that had been left by the previous tenant. It had more holes than a sponge and more strings than a contract with hidden, fine print.
“I can always paint it a diffewent colouw,” Kotton had suggested.
“Of course, of course,” his father had said with a wave of his hand. “What really concerns me is how the living room is connected to the kitchen. I mean, where is the dining room? Won’t the smells from your cooking linger into the spot where you’re trying to read?” He was referring to an arbitrary spot on the couch he was sitting on.
Kotton knew that his father was only meaning well, that he was being the parent and giving his own two cents to make sure his son was thinking about everything before he purchased a house, but the young man was no stranger to adapting. He could always paint, remodel, reconstruct and recover. The couch could be replaced, the walls could be painted, he could always have someone come in and construct a wall that intersected the kitchen from the living room. But if you were to have asked him, the place seemed perfect. It was just what he needed; it was a small place that could easily house one, if not two or maybe even three under the right conditions. Besides, Kotton secretly loved a fixer-upper.
“A house is a home you make,” he had said.
Brought out of his reverie, Kotton noticed a large crack in the far wall. He would need to paint over that if he remembered it after this impromptu investigation. But for now, he was too focused on trying to discover the fragrance that was far from redolence.
He made a mental check in his mind that the walls were not where the smell was coming from. Then, he moved swiftly to the kitchen. Yes, he had never asked any contractor or construction worker to build a wall to separate the kitchen from the living room, so the entire area was just one big chunk. The kitchen seemed most obvious since he had recently attempted making something from the recipe book he had borrowed from the library. But he had cleaned all his dishes, thrown away the scraps and deposited the rubbish bag outside along the kerb where it belonged until pick up day. So, as he scoured the countertops, the cabinets and the drawers with his nose, he undoubtedly found nothing. Still, the scent dallied like a vagrant calling out to each and every passerby they saw for a coin or two. Whilst his motivation would have begun faltering at this point, it did not. He had already covered the bathroom, the hallway and now the kitchen. That left on the rest of the living room until he would finally uncover the origin of the rot.
He took a deep breath and diverted his attention from pots and pans and other cutlery to cushions and pillows and coffee tables. He started with the coffee table, pondering whether he had spilled some coffee or tea and had forgotten to clean up the mess. But upon further investigation, the table in its entirety was clean, wiped free of any evidence. He didn’t dwell on the fact that this was very unlike him and instead chose to further his endeavour towards the couch, namely the couch cushions.
That’s when another memory shot through his head.
”Are you sure this is the fabric you like?”
Kotton had looked at his newly purchased couch and the cushions that now aligned its back. He had inwardly nodded his head, but would outwardly amuse his father with a bit of misgiving doubt. “I think it’s okay, at least fow now.”
His father had shrugged before stalking toward the other side of the living room. “And what about this table?” He was no doubt talking about the coffee table he had just purchased also. “It’s a little dark for the room, don’t you think?”
Kotton had taken a stolen breath from the air that had slowly begun to dissipate what with his father’s negative energy. He had smiled then and had said, “It’s foundational to my thought pwocess.” What Kotton had meant was that the ‘darkness’ his father had announced was just an integral part of how he liked to live when he was thinking and writing and reading.
“Whatever you say.”
The couch cushions were not the source of the smell and the young man had sniffed all five of them like they were flowers on display at the local arboretum. No, the aroma of death was somewhere else, somewhere close, he just had to check off where the smell wasn't so he could focus more on where it was.
His investigation continued to the rest of the couch. He often ate on the couch and had no doubt spilt countless crumbs, ridiculous amounts of alcohol, and… nuts? He had been infatuated by the taste of nuts this last cycle though he couldn’t explain why. However, after deliberate, careful and exceptionally cautious detail of the rifts and cracks and fissures of the couch cushions, there was nothing that proved there was such a rancid and sour smell.
Until…
Imogen emerged from the shadows of the hallway and trotted ever so carelessly into the living room until she planted herself directly in front of the very centre of the couch. With the use of her claws she nonchalantly pulled from underneath it a very dead, very decomposing and very smelly rat.
Kotton brought his hands up to his mouth, both to stifle a look of disgust and a smile. This had been the thing plaguing his nose for so long? This was the source of the smell?
He looked down at his pet cat with a look of pure resentment but censored himself. He applied a fake grin onto his face as he reached down to pet Imogen. “Good girl,” he all but muttered before racing to the kitchen to fetch some gloves to remove the dead body.
Out the front door and into the city street he threw the murder. So long as it was out of his house and away from his wellbeing it didn’t matter. The investigation was finished, but for several trials thereafter, Kotton would be haunted by the residual scent of rot and decay.
He was working in order of smallest to largest in terms of room dimension, as any intelligent thinker would. There were more places for things to hide in the bathroom, but that didn’t dissuade him from exploring each and every crevice. His investigation wouldn’t be a total loss either, if he managed to come up empty handed as to the source of the smell; he could use this time utilising his analytical eye to observe all the spots he wouldn’t normally see on a daily basis and find all the spots that needed some overdue deep cleaning. He started in the back corner of the bathroom, tracing his line of sight over the gap between the commode and the bath basin. There was nothing but three dust bunnies here. Next, he travelled his gaze along the ridge of the bath basin until it connected with the adjacent wall. There was nothing in this area either. He followed the line of sight until it connected with the perpendicular wall which housed the wash basin, which he found was in dire need of a good scrubbing. In the wash basin was built on crud from the many times he had brushed his teeth without flushing with water. But still, there was no reasonable evidence of anything that could give off such a grotesque scent, so his dark brown orbs hovered still, traversing the floor, the objects above them, the walls, and even the ceiling, until he had managed to canvas the entire area to no avail. The smell might have been strong here, but it was not located here.
Now that he had crossed off the hallway and the bathroom from the list of places the smell was coming from, the only thing left was the living room. This was a mightier task to complete since the room itself was almost three times the size of either of the previous rooms. Nevertheless, he continued to remain unperturbed. He needed to get to the bottom of this or else the disgust would remain and would ultimately drive him crazy. If it had been anything else, even the ostentatious scent of a young lady’s poor choice in perfume, he wouldn’t have minded. At least not as much. But with every whiff, Kotton pleaded he had been rendered without a sense of smell rather than deaf.
He hiked up his pants, which had been stained earlier when he had been casually kneading dough in the hopes of making bread, and pushed onward. Right where the hallway met the living room, the young man stopped. This was his starting grounds. Here was where the smell was stronger- stronger than in the bathroom and stronger than in the hallway, though it had tried to trick him in both places. His eyes narrowed, frustration building steam within his nostrils until he huffed hot air from out his nostrils. He was fixated now, dead set on finding where on earth this putrid aroma was coming from! He challenged elevation by taking a whiff whilst he was standing and then another as he plummeted to his knees. He calculated. The intensity of the smell was marginally different, which gave him no leads other than the fact that he was in the right room. He glanced to the wall to his left and was hypothetically felled by distraction.
”This place isn’t too shabby,” Kotton’s father had said as he waltzed into the centre of the living room. His eyes were squinted, his bottom lip pushed out as he scrutinized the size of the room and ultimately situated his gaze on the far wall. “Could use a paint job though. That colour is hideous.”
Kotton had scoffed then and rolled his eyes. “You don’t like pewtew?”
“Is that what the kids call grey these days?”
His father had plopped on the ugly brown couch that had been left by the previous tenant. It had more holes than a sponge and more strings than a contract with hidden, fine print.
“I can always paint it a diffewent colouw,” Kotton had suggested.
“Of course, of course,” his father had said with a wave of his hand. “What really concerns me is how the living room is connected to the kitchen. I mean, where is the dining room? Won’t the smells from your cooking linger into the spot where you’re trying to read?” He was referring to an arbitrary spot on the couch he was sitting on.
Kotton knew that his father was only meaning well, that he was being the parent and giving his own two cents to make sure his son was thinking about everything before he purchased a house, but the young man was no stranger to adapting. He could always paint, remodel, reconstruct and recover. The couch could be replaced, the walls could be painted, he could always have someone come in and construct a wall that intersected the kitchen from the living room. But if you were to have asked him, the place seemed perfect. It was just what he needed; it was a small place that could easily house one, if not two or maybe even three under the right conditions. Besides, Kotton secretly loved a fixer-upper.
“A house is a home you make,” he had said.
Brought out of his reverie, Kotton noticed a large crack in the far wall. He would need to paint over that if he remembered it after this impromptu investigation. But for now, he was too focused on trying to discover the fragrance that was far from redolence.
He made a mental check in his mind that the walls were not where the smell was coming from. Then, he moved swiftly to the kitchen. Yes, he had never asked any contractor or construction worker to build a wall to separate the kitchen from the living room, so the entire area was just one big chunk. The kitchen seemed most obvious since he had recently attempted making something from the recipe book he had borrowed from the library. But he had cleaned all his dishes, thrown away the scraps and deposited the rubbish bag outside along the kerb where it belonged until pick up day. So, as he scoured the countertops, the cabinets and the drawers with his nose, he undoubtedly found nothing. Still, the scent dallied like a vagrant calling out to each and every passerby they saw for a coin or two. Whilst his motivation would have begun faltering at this point, it did not. He had already covered the bathroom, the hallway and now the kitchen. That left on the rest of the living room until he would finally uncover the origin of the rot.
He took a deep breath and diverted his attention from pots and pans and other cutlery to cushions and pillows and coffee tables. He started with the coffee table, pondering whether he had spilled some coffee or tea and had forgotten to clean up the mess. But upon further investigation, the table in its entirety was clean, wiped free of any evidence. He didn’t dwell on the fact that this was very unlike him and instead chose to further his endeavour towards the couch, namely the couch cushions.
That’s when another memory shot through his head.
”Are you sure this is the fabric you like?”
Kotton had looked at his newly purchased couch and the cushions that now aligned its back. He had inwardly nodded his head, but would outwardly amuse his father with a bit of misgiving doubt. “I think it’s okay, at least fow now.”
His father had shrugged before stalking toward the other side of the living room. “And what about this table?” He was no doubt talking about the coffee table he had just purchased also. “It’s a little dark for the room, don’t you think?”
Kotton had taken a stolen breath from the air that had slowly begun to dissipate what with his father’s negative energy. He had smiled then and had said, “It’s foundational to my thought pwocess.” What Kotton had meant was that the ‘darkness’ his father had announced was just an integral part of how he liked to live when he was thinking and writing and reading.
“Whatever you say.”
The couch cushions were not the source of the smell and the young man had sniffed all five of them like they were flowers on display at the local arboretum. No, the aroma of death was somewhere else, somewhere close, he just had to check off where the smell wasn't so he could focus more on where it was.
His investigation continued to the rest of the couch. He often ate on the couch and had no doubt spilt countless crumbs, ridiculous amounts of alcohol, and… nuts? He had been infatuated by the taste of nuts this last cycle though he couldn’t explain why. However, after deliberate, careful and exceptionally cautious detail of the rifts and cracks and fissures of the couch cushions, there was nothing that proved there was such a rancid and sour smell.
Until…
Imogen emerged from the shadows of the hallway and trotted ever so carelessly into the living room until she planted herself directly in front of the very centre of the couch. With the use of her claws she nonchalantly pulled from underneath it a very dead, very decomposing and very smelly rat.
Kotton brought his hands up to his mouth, both to stifle a look of disgust and a smile. This had been the thing plaguing his nose for so long? This was the source of the smell?
He looked down at his pet cat with a look of pure resentment but censored himself. He applied a fake grin onto his face as he reached down to pet Imogen. “Good girl,” he all but muttered before racing to the kitchen to fetch some gloves to remove the dead body.
Out the front door and into the city street he threw the murder. So long as it was out of his house and away from his wellbeing it didn’t matter. The investigation was finished, but for several trials thereafter, Kotton would be haunted by the residual scent of rot and decay.