Gasoline


Gasoline.
That's the only word that could describe the odor brought on by her dance of death. The smell was overbearing, bearing a striking resemblance to the flood I would soon become submerged in. There was no stopping her. She had already filled my porcelain cast; it was only a matter of time before it cracked, microscopic canyons giving way to a more catastrophic disaster. I felt her fluid transport through and through, the taste against my nostrils heightening as she clenched onto my arm. Without hesitation, I let her take me away. With one blink, the eyes of a china doll remained closed, submerged in gasoline, forevermore.

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