Katherine Dickson

Letters and Numbers

I stood on the stoop for what felt like forever. After a deep inhale, I pushed the door inward and hesitated, calling through the gap ‘Hello?’. The expected silence bid me to enter. The immediate visual and olfactory onslaught overcame me and I involuntarily brought my hand to my mouth - the scent of sweetness and death from browning flowers that were still held in faded posies around the round, with an aftertaste of what could only be described as ‘old person’ smell - the scent of baby powder, medicine and slightly stale urine. I counted only 5 bouquets, considering that this was all that was left of a friendless life, a life ruled by the dichotomy of wanting then discarding, pulling in then pushing away from people. “As in life, so is death”, my mousey voice disturbed the decrepit room.