The scent of rain and mud. Who does it not appeal to?
For some, it's nostalgic, for some, it reminds them of the best moments of their life, and for some, it marks an ending.
For Ymir, this scent was the mark of his end.
The rain fell steadily, drumming against the leaves of the manicured oaks that lined the park. Evening had bled the sky to a grey, and the tall iron gates of the neighbouring villas glowed faintly with porch lights, but no one moved along the walkways.
The park behind his house was empty. Ymir sat motionless on the slatted wooden bench as rain soaked his dark purple shirt, clinging to it heavily on his chest and shoulders.
Black trousers, and shoes stained with mud, his wrist classic watch glinted as water beaded and slid across the crystal dial glass.
His right hand was resting open on his thigh, holding a medical report, pinched between thumb and forefinger.
Subarachnoid Hemorrhage (SAH), Grade III.
Prognosis: terminal. (Untreatable)
