Reddit WP - Ashen Day.

WP = A Man has the ability to smell death. The greater the stench, the closer a person is to dying. He leaves his house one day and is instantly overcome with the pungent scent of mortality. Every person he passes reeks of death.
[Warning, may contain disturbing imagery.](Oh hell of course it does.)
No one had believed him.

He had tried to warn them, had screamed, had cried, begged even. Had torn his hair in despair when they turned away from him in disbelief when they heard of the stench. Oh, the maddening stench! How it had burned in his nostrils the moment he set foot outside his home. Quickly, he sniffed his hand frantically, breathing in his own aroma, he had learned to check and make sure the smell wasn't coming from him.


Since the dish washer incident, he had learned.


Immediately he set out, the urgency of the situation making him almost rabid in his lust to warn those around. Everyone he passed reeked of a freshly turned, shallow grave and they all ignored him, all of them! Can you believe it? Just because he looked a bit dishevelled and hadn't shaved in a teensy tiny few months. What did they think he was?!

He tried to think of a way to warn them, to warn as many as he could. There was no time, NO TIME! to hunt down a megaphone, so he stole a marker and some cardboard from a nearby worksite, ran to the most public corner of the city and began screaming for their attention. He HAD to warn them, had to, only he knew of the danger that was coming and for an entire day he shouted himself hoarse at the demeaning and the disinterested crowded around him.

Then. It happened. Or rather, they happened. The first person who saw it didn't say anything grand, nothing cliche like they do in the movies. He didnt point to the sky and raise an alarm. He simply glanced up, said "The fuck is that?" and then put his head back down just like the rest around him and continued to trudge on. A complete stranger, thinking he was being addressed glanced up as well and replied monotonously "No idea, nothing." before also marching on. The man who had tried to warn them, the one who smelt the approaching danger, stood on his perch, frozen in fear, no longer crying for those around him to flee. It was far too late for that.

"Ewww! Mummy he pee'd!" A little girl cried and the crowd around him collectively shook their heads and shifted further away. Just another madman, nothing new. Just another bum, victim, dopefiend, another of the downtrodden to be given scraps in return for good feelings.

"What IS that?" Another asked, this time drawing more attention to it. As more heads slowly turned to watch confusedly, the object of their attention continued downwards. Drifting lazily, almost majestically through the darkened, skyscraper entombed sky was what appeared to be a huge mote of dust, of ash seemingly fallen out of the sky, lonesome and hypnotic it fell.

The man stood amongst a swirling vortex of death, his eyes dry, his mouth agape. The ash was the center of it all, as it neared the ground the stench almost took on physicality, causing those around him to appear darker, as if long decayed flesh replaced their healthy, living skin. He would have gagged if he could remember what that was, what HE was. The stench was everything now, everything HE was and everything else too.

Everyone was watching this peculiar ash fall to the ground, it was massive in size but receding as it neared the ground. Jaws fell open at this unnatural, unexplainable sight, surely surreal. All looked upwards, all except one, one who stood directly beneath the ash and was poking fun of those around him.
"What? Never seen dust before? Get outta here." He turned to a friend, a girl, small, pretty if not beautiful, fragile. "You comin?" He asked gruffly but she also stood transfixed. Disgusted he rolled his eyes. "Fug'gedaboutit." He rumbled before strolling off, back hunched and eyes downcast. The man who could no longer smell anything, the prophet, he who could see the dead flesh all around him had a perfect view of the mans face as he walked away from his girl. He could also see the ash above.

With a sharp, almost angry jerk the ash changed its lazy course, no longer spiraling downwards. It instead followed the man, rushing downwards directly downwards faster and faster always getting smaller and smaller. A few took a step forward, some raised their hand to the man, many wanted to cry a warning but none could speak and even less could move. Muttering in disgust the man continued on, unperturbed by the oddities around him, all that could be heard was the angry voice of the man and his forceful, trudging steps as the ash silently glided closer.


Suddenly, the ash seized up, a scant few inches from the back of the mans neck, the grey glow providing a strange luminescence to the area around it, leeching the colour out of the world itself. The man must have felt something because he stopped walking, slowly straightening himself. The prophet could see his eyes, they were distant, introspective, as if wondering at something. The man blinked and his face contorted in to one of such terrible, terrible fear, his throat constricted so strongly it looked like someone had gripped it in a dreadful vice when the ash struck. Like bolt of lightning it hit the mans neck, moving fast enough to break the sound barrier with a loud CRACK. The fear was gone from the mans face instantly, his eyes were no longer distant. Instead, they were glassy, as though dead.

The disappearance of the ash should have been enough to snap the people out of their reverie, the object of their transfixation no longer in view. When before they were rooted to the spot out of a maddening interest, a desire to know more, now they stood still as the mouse stands maddeningly frozen before the snake. Primal instincts, so long forgotten by 'civilized' man, kicked in to action, pressing every red button and flicking every switch labelled "ALARM" in their minds yet no one moved. Many broke out in cold sweats, some shook from fear and others wept openly. Yet only one had the courage to move. The girl from earlier, the one the man had spoken to, staggered towards him slowly, almost robotically as if she was just now learning how to walk.


She moved to in front of the man, trying to get his attention, she gripped his shirt, shouted at him, cried and beat on his chest, scared but not knowing why yet still the mans glazed eyes gazed downwards, lifeless and obtuse. Yet still the tension in the air grew until it almost crackled with energy. Breathing deeply, the prophet looked down, willing himself to take a step forward, forcing himself every millimetre, every atom, slowly, ever so slowly raising and lowering his foot but finally, after what felt like an eternity of listening to the woman shriek for her man to come back his shoe touched the edge of his platform with a loud "click".

The shrieking of the woman was cut off in a gasp. The tension was gone from the air as the prophet looked back up only to find himself staring deep, deep into the glazed eyes of the ashen man. His irises slowly expanding until his eyes were almost entirely black. As the prophet stared into the abyssal eyes of this man he noticed that his posture had changed. The mans arm was outstretched, gripping the womans throat, lifting her off the ground, cutting her off from air and the air from her shrieks. The prophet looked back in horror at the ashen man, who smiled with a mouth that was now far, far too wide for a human face. Suddenly the mans irises slammed closed into tiny pin pricks and his head snapped sideways to face the woman, his grin getting even wider as his other hand gripped the top off her head.


A twist and a spray of red was all it took for pandemonium to strike. Like rats fleeing a sinking ship the crowd scattered, including the prophet. He had to get away, had to, the smell was gone now, or maybe it wasn't gone, maybe it was all he COULD smell now. It didn't matter anymore, he just HAD to run. Had to get high, up and away from the madness spreading on the streets.
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Ten hours later the prophet's legs dangled out underneath him as he sat atop the highest skyscraper. The city was ablaze below him and smoke was mingling with the dark, night sky. Screams and the sounds of battle could still be heard, less often now, even less often the sound of battle. It was mostly just screaming now, mostly.

That was the least of his problems though. It had followed him, had always turned up no matter where he went, walking slowly, with a purpose. Inexorable and slow, it had given chase, like a hunter of old walking its prey to death until finally he had given up, had simply ascended the highest tower and waited. That was eight hours ago. One hour ago, he heard it arrive, the soft padding of its now-bare feet coming closer and closer, louder and louder until it reached a crescendo, mingling with the cacophony of violence below.

Yet it did not strike, it had simply stood behind him. Breathing slowly, sporadically as though it had to remind itself. He heard the crinkling of skin as its terrible, too wide smile increased, or its distended jaw moved.
It even gulped once.


That was long and unpleasant.


The thing behind him was no longer even remotely human, he couldn't bare to look at it but he could feel its abyssal eyes boring holes into the back of his head and neck, almost as if trying to will him to turn around. He could give in, he could turn around but the edge, and the fires below were looking like a better alternative every second he sat there with the thing behind h-
"Turn....around..." it whispered, what sounded like multiple jaws, tongues and teeth clacking together attempting to form coherent sentences..


With a desperate, gurgling cry of fear, he leapt upwards, attempting to disentangle himself from the bars that ordinarily discouraged people from leaping from rooftops as he heard the sudden rush of feet behind him. The bars did their job too well this day and as the prophet leapt over the edge, he felt his head snap backwards as a cold, clammy, clawed hand gripped his mouth, forcing him backwards. He felt his legs get crushed on the bars and a second hand pushing down on his lower back. A THIRD arm gripped his shoulder and with a wrench, tear and a pop, his spine was suddenly bent at a ninety degree angle. Before the pain of such a thing could hit him, he found himself staring into the pooling darkness that was the creatures eyes.