Jack awoke to seagulls calling over the open sky with shadows from the early morning sun still rising, making purples, blues, and pinks swirl together to make a concoction of beauty, hope, and peace. Personally, he had always preferred dawn over dusk. Dawn was the beginning of something new. There were always prospects and opportunities, no matter what had happened the day before. Choices could be made that day, things could be said the way they should, and things could be done the right way. Dusk was the end, to him. Once the lights went out in the great vastness called the sky, you could not change what you had done wrong. There was no going back.
Arousing his lean body from the comforts of warmth and rest, Jack carried his weight out of the small but firm structure storing all of his memories, and into the uninhabited nature that contained so much mystery and fascination. Upon stepping over the threshold, he experienced the embrace of the rushing air, as if in a hurry for something important, and smelled the scent of spring. His eyes drifted up to the blanket thrown over the world beneath the wrappings, and saw a story come to life. The sun was starting to rise, as if a warrior rising from the deadly battle being fought long into the night. Slowly but surely, the knight would come and stand victorious, generously bestowing his riches on the world, blessing them with life, a new beginning, and love.
Through the never ending maze of color he travelled, through the crunch of twigs he stepped and blooming flowers on the maples he passed. The chirping of chickadees brought the forest to life even more than it already was. Every movement caught his eye; a wriggling worm coming out from the dew sodden ground, a dance being performed by green leaves conducted by the composer of wind,  and the sun shining through the forest.
As he passed, Jack marveled at the wonder he saw daily throughout all nature. Each sunrise brought something new and different. All things in the forest were united by a common quality: they were all diversely exquisite. A small stream trickled down a conglomeration of river rocks; they formed a staircase that the clear liquid constantly climbed down. Today, the bubbling brook burrowed even farther down into the path, and the sound of chirps, breezes, crunches, and rushing water cleared Jack’s mind of all worry, stress, and confusion he felt. The forest scenery never failed to calm him, even without speaking. Nature, he had learned, used a personalized sign language to speak to its viewers, if only your eye caught the motions.
Past the trees lay a stream flowing swiftly from the inside of the forest out to sea. As Jack walked alongside the stream, he caught his reflection in the clear liquid. He peered inside, past the picture, and into the depths of who he was. Why, he wondered, was his nose so long, and who decided for him to have blue eyes? Why was he so in love with nature? Why did the sound of the waves, full of such danger, calm him to sleep? What was he going to do tomorrow, and the day after, years to come, with his life? Jack wanted to understand himself, to know what he was destined to do with his life.
He pondered these things as his feet carried him down a familiar path to the ocean. Upon reaching the grains of crushed rock and shell covering the land adjacent to the ocean ahead, Jack breathed in again, this time catching the scent of- of what? Jack could not tell. This worried him, for he always smelled before going out to sea. He could smell fish, could smell bad luck and could recognize the scent of calmness, but today the scent was unknown to him. Simultaneously, the unknown intrigued him and made him want to run for his life. Jack was the only one he knew that could smell like he could, and he had never yet run into this problem of an unknown aroma.
Panic crept into his mental defenses; they invaded his mind like a surprise army. He felt them attack all of a sudden, and his heart told him to run. Run away, Jack, said his heart. His mind, however, said he still had a job to do. His family, his little sister and mother, depended on him for food and income. Today was a peaceful one, and there was no reason for him to not go out and get a good catch. He reasoned the smell could be bad luck, but it could also be good. Slowly, his mind attacked the invaders, and they retreated.
Jack pulled out the knot he had tied onto a wooden stake yesterday, and watched the rope unravel in a quick dance. He then undid the knot attached to his boat, and hopped inside. Pushing off, the boat glided slickly off into the ocean. The oars seemed to row themselves then; Jack barely felt the weight of the oars and the burn of muscles moving. He hardly noticed what direction the boat was going, yet worry did not overcome him. The sea always did this to him, and he always trusted his instincts, not logic, to lead him wherever he went on the ocean. The ocean was a way for him to unwind and be calm as he mulled over his thoughts. His body relaxed as the wind caressed his face; he closed his eyes as the boat rocked from side to side gently. Jack let the oars be still as he listened to the sound of the ocean. But as he focused his thoughts on his surroundings, he felt something change. The wind seemed to grab his boat quickly and the boat rocked impatiently, as if persuading him to do something. He opened his eyes to see what the urgency in the sea was about.
Stirring around him was anger. He could tell it through the sky, which was now morphing into a deep passion of red. Darkness swirled with crimson as they fought violently for the dominance of the sky. He could tell through the water. The water spoke to him and told him of fear. The waves were running away, away from danger, although he did not know why. They came closer and ran faster as he witnessed their cowardly flight. Jack could not make sense of their escape, for he had sensed peace and calm in the day. What could have caused the sea to become so afraid and panicked?
A drop attached itself to Jack and nestled into his black hair.But as he looked up, he saw not drops of rain pelting down, but drops of red. Soon, many thousands of crimson colored drops fell from above. Suddenly, they did not simply fall but sprinted to the sea. As Jack took a closer look, he realized what the drops were made of, and why. The sky could not take it anymore, and as darkness won the fight, Crimson cried her tears, the color of herself. The drops were of blood.
This made Jack want to flee along with the waves; it pushed him to leave as fast as he could. How could he have sensed peace? For the world was experiencing an ongoing fight, one that seemed the deadliest ever known in its history. He made a move to go back to shore, but the waves suddenly pulled him away from land. Come away, Jack, they said, you’ll be safe with us. No, he thought, no, I must go back home. I cannot die like my father, I cannot leave a world I barely know. I cannot leave my little sister and mother all alone in this violent world. His mind was frantic, his nerves buzzing around with adrenaline, as he realized what was unfolding; he was going to be lost as sea, eventually discovered at the bottom of the ocean.
Through the blood drops, he heard a voice, only a whisper, say, “Jack! Mother wants you home!” Carrie, he thought. His chest pounded, his eyes watered, his heart stopped. “Carrie! Carrie, help!” His voice cracked as he spoke his sister’s name, his thoughts brought him to tears as he realized he would never see her grow up, never see her write her lovely name, never see her husband and children, never see her find her passion, her purpose. Carrie, his thoughts screamed. Faintly, he heard her call again, “Jack, where are you? Mother made pie for dessert! She wants you to finish your carving and then we’ll celebrate! Jack! Jack……” He heard her sweet voice, and he cried and cried; he bawled like a baby. “Carrie! Carrie, wait! I’m coming! Stay there,” he called. He watched as Carrie walked along the beach, searching for him. Please don’t get hurt, little girl, he thought. Please don’t get hurt because of me. “Carrie,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry,” he said. I’m sorry for leaving you, for not spending every second with you and Mother. Why did I waste time on meaningless things? 
He swallowed hard, as he realized the end was near, and gained the last breath he would ever take. The waves pulled him one last time as they tugged on his body and heart. They stole his boat, crushing it to pieces. He fell into the depths, with a jolt of pain as salt filled his nostrils and eyes, and as the cold crushed his bones. He sank to the bottom. He realized, then, the peace he had smelled. The peace there was in death. For he realized that in death, there were no expectations, no rules. He understood the calm he had felt, the stillness at the bottom and underneath the storm.
As he looked up for the last time, he realized what the unfamiliar scent had been.
It was the aroma of death.