She does not know smell can make her feel so lonely.

She has not realized it until this day, how many smells she has dismissed as daily facts. The oily aroma from the kitchen when her maid makes fried rice for the family's breakfast. The sharp cologne filling the bathroom after her father has used it. The soft apple perfume of her car, always accompanies her along the way to work.

And when she goes out for a morning jogging, she will take for granted the slightly fetid sewer, the choking exhaust fumes of early car-users, and occasionally the sweet whiff of flowers and fruits from her neighbors' gardens.

But now all has gone, swallowed by the merciless damp reek of mud.

She stands on the second floor of her house, gazing at the endless flood water. Earlier this morning, gas had been leaking out of her drowned little car, sending a nauseating odor throughout the surroundings. But now even the stench has faded away to nothingness.

It is unfair because she knows, at the other side of the city, people are complaining about the strong tang of midday sun beating down on asphalts, criticizing the tasty aromas of their own hot food, while she sits alone, inhaling the cold scent of water in her corner of the city.

If the water goes down, there will be new smells in her town. The garbage piling high on roads, sewers, and rivers. The rotten vegetables and meats in her refrigerator. The smells of sadness, hopelessness, and anger that will befall the metropolis.

The new wind brings down the scent of rain. She looks at the faraway darkening sky then down to the empty buckets at her side. Clean water has long since run out, and now she is depending on the water from above.

She does not know whether to cherish or to weep at the incoming downpour.

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