I smell gas.

I smell something rotten.

I smell something burning, Mother.

He carries this on for hours, during which time he prepares himself a drink that I could hear him sip I can also smell cigarettes. Unfortunately the room is non smoking, so he has to stub them out on me.

I wished I could thank each one of them. I wished I could tell each one of them how much deeper the pain would have been if they hadn t been here. I wished I could catch the scent of majestic Aleppo in their tears, and dedicate this article to them, or to those among them who are still with us, as many of these revolutionists have died defending freedom.