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Every homicide, suicide, and traffic fatality has a distinct smell to it. The unfound and decomposing body, the iron scented blood and gunpowder, or the mixture of blood, transmission fluid, and radiator coolant. Every unnatural death is unique, and one gets hardened to that. An officer walks through the crime or accident scene, emotionally unattached, with a notepad, writing down clues and at the same time using all his or her senses to pick up more. "Smell that cordite or that electrical wire?" Little things are the start of a big case. But these young officers--me among them--file these scenes and smells away. There is a little file box like your mom had for recipes, in your mind. It is easy to close when it is new, but with much use, it will not stay closed. These memories, they do come back, and as bad as we try alone, we cannot stop the memories in later life. To those of you who walk the path without any regrets or bad memories, I salute you, truly admire you. I unfortunately am a weaker species. Things creep out of that box in my mind in the middle of the night. Getting my ass beaten and embarrassed, rapes, suicides, and only God knows how many traffic fatalities. Brothers and sisters, if you do not have this affliction, I applaud you! Keep your mental health. Help those in the line who struggle. I bow to you all.