Yareli was laying on her couch, her blue-ish hair hiding her amber eyes. She was breathing in the remainder of her father's scent of cheap tequilla and wet dog. Her mother had smelled better, but generic jewelry couldn't hold onto her personal smell- a subtle wildflower and warm bread. Her mother had always baked something when she got home from school. But not anymore.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Mommy?... Daddy?... Where are you?" little Yareli called out in the night. She had just woken up from a bad dream and was searching for their comfort. Her hands scaled the walls for the light switch. A strong scent of rust and what her father drank assailed her sensitive nose, but still she continued on. It was the normal smell of after her parents yelled and screamed and hit each other. At school they told her that it wasn't nice to hit others, but her parents did it. "Mommy?" she called out again, finally finding the switch that would turn her world upside down.</span><br/><br/>Letting the tears fall, she wept in silence on the couch with the last remaining scents of her dead father.