Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
They say that a burning human and a burning pig smell the same.
I’m not sure who “they” are, but they are all fucking liars. Here I am, standing in the middle of the battlefield between dragons and men and all I can smell is burning flesh. Human flesh. Thousands of men are on the ground around me, writhing in pain or, hopefully, already dead. But the smell is what gets me.
Maybe it’s the leather armor being scorched and burned along with the person wearing it. Maybe it’s the smell of armor glowing red hot as it literally melts its way through the flesh of the victim who decided that metal was a good defense against dragon flame. Maybe it was just that fact that there was so much death, so much destruction, so much charred flesh, that my mind rejected what I thought I smelled.
For me, it was simple: I smelled Death.
Not the little death that follows us all through the days and nights of our existence, but Death, the omnipotent being that has control over when we are born and when we die. Some call him Samhain or Hades or Pluto or even the Grim Reaper. I knew him as a companion, an ally … even a friend. But this smell, this was not the Death I knew, this was a Death that had lost all comprehension of rational thought.
What do you do when a God goes mad?
Post a link to the story in the comments.