The Scent of a Woman

Everyone has a scent – as unique as a fingerprint, as recognizable as a face.

People learn the scent of their spouse over a lifetime of shared experience. Crying newborns are comforted when the smell of their parent wafts near and permeates their world. Despondent family members cling to bits of clothing saturated in the scent of lost loved ones.

Light had fled from my world, the blindfold stretched tight across the upper half of my face. My limbs had long since grown painful and then cold, tied to the stiff chair. The clanging of machinery in the room next door drowned out ambient noise.

But I could still smell, and on what I figured was the third day of my imprisonment her scent entered the room.

At first I was elated – rescue had come at last! When my bonds were unbroken, hope turned to horror. She had been captured as well! Our fates were shared. After a moment, I sensed the heavy door close again as her scent began to dissipate in the acrid air.

My wife had come and gone, and left me behind.


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