In the dusky wetness of fading daylight, I linger near a surviving Scentimental, inhaling the sweetness of the rose that fragranced those long forgotten front porch evenings-now mixed with petrichor and the stench of wounded soil. The naked patch of earth in front of me looks small. Too small to have ever cradled the house that cradled our family.
I recognized, underneath your pedantic excuses for demolishing our childhood home, a sense of settling a score. Of hiding behind the camouflage of too old and too run down, a festering belief that I was somehow the favored son.
And so, when it came down to deciding the fate of what should have been our legacy, put up for sale to pay off the debts of our parents, you-with eyes the color of jealousy, so different from my eyes of brown-simply had more money to burn.
This week, I’ve combined two prompts:
I’ve used the above image, as well as the word:
noun: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather
The third definition of the word
1 : of, relating to, or being a pedant(see pedant)
2 : narrowly, stodgily, and often ostentatiously learned