The smell was as hideous as a demon past the seventh gate of hell and yet as pleasant as a field of flowers. It came to me like a messenger, delivering the news. It spoke of a truce, and it spoke of war. It tried to console me, to comfort me, to plead to me against war. It begged with all of its heart, tears as salty as the rain, and cried for mercy. But I couldn’t live with this.