It smelt green, strongly green. Intoxicating in not altogether a pleasant way. It bled at her feet and she knew that it’s stains would last a life time. Cut grass had a life cycle of its own. Born with the first cut, yet it reached it’s optimum, it’s softest and sweetest smell when it had lain in the sun for a few days. The acrid tinge would ebb away and a warm, musty cozy smell would take its place. It worked like a teleporter on her. It took her back to lazy afternoons, lying in the field behind the school. Knowing better but not doing it. It smelt exciting and forever of Mark. The only forever he had lived to have. He, much like the grass, had been cut down so young, so green, in another, quite faraway land. Where there is no grass.
She inhaled once more and walked away.
