Bleach Writing Novels & Stories

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, the coarse links of kink are tangled into a greasy mane and i try toimagine that she's the one playing with my hair. For one extra second, i hold on. Then i'm back in my overwhelmingly beige room. But i don't come back alone, my head is swollen with a flawless string of in-fault-able words. I roll over and grab the bic pen at my side. Damn biology. The unmistakable aroma of stew creeps through the window, from the neighbour's house, but my stomach stays silent this time. I reward its sobriety for this awe-inspiring moment with a small smile and then i write. I bleed the first word: Beige.

"A writer, how inspiring! What do you write?" "Books." I deadpanned from behind mom, earning an annoyed cluck of her tongue. Blondie smiled awkwardly. "Ah, yes, I see. A- anything you'd recommend?" "Actually, yes. I think my latest work, From Beyond The Grave, would be the perfect read for you. Tons of bloodshed and cannibalism, there's even a chapter where the protagonist has to disembowel her own friend to-" "Uh, could we trouble you for some waters, dear?" Mom cut in, her voice on the edge between friendly and collected and right about to lose her shit.

It’s thick, metallic and then I remember where we are. It clings to the air like a suffocating fog, sinking into my nostrils and coating the back of my throat. I gag on it as bile rises into the back of my mouth. Then I smell bleach mixed in. The tang burns my nose, and for a split second, I can’t tell if the sting in my eyes is from the fumes or the growing panic in my chest. We slept in this. I cleaned the floor last night, scrubbed this spot until my hands were raw, but now the mix of blood and bleach is even worse. It’s foul and chemical, like something rotting beneath sterile lies.

I ignored the pains between my legs and proceeded to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me to avoid him walking on me. He might have his way with me here in the bathroom again. I was not ready for that. I might pass out. I grabbed the second toothbrush and made use of it. Turning on the shower, I stood underneath and washed myself. I took a soft sponge and did the necessary scrubbing. I washed myself and stared at my swollen eyes in the mirror. I washed my hair and after a few minutes, I was done.

he screamed, stepping back. I grabbed the bleach bottle and hit him on the side his head as hard as I could, causing him to step backward. I took advantage of his momentary unbalance as he rubbed his eyes, knowing that I only had a second. I unscrewed the cap from the bleach bottle and threw the contents at him, causing him to scream out in pain as bleach covered his face and hair. I grabbed the broom and, finding sudden strength, rammed my foot into the wooden handle, breaking it in half.

Moreover who listens to best friend until and unless some problem arises. Putting a full stop to my thinking, I went inside the washroom, washed up and did my morning routine.... I didn't put any makeup for obvious reasons, as i have surgeries to do and just went with a light cream and a lipstick of light pink shade.... It's actually one of my favourites... Although pink is not the colour I prefer as I am not a pink person... Well, I am black person... Let's leave as soon as possible otherwise I would be late... I went out not before locking my house and tried to look for a cab or rickshaw...

The smell of bleach stings my nose as I pour it onto the sponge, the liquid sloshing over. I start with the floor, dropping to my knees beside the bloodstain. The sponge soaks up the red, turning it a sickly pink as I scrub, my arms moving in jerky motions. My head throbs with every movement, but I push through, my jaw clenched. The blood smears at first, stubborn and slick, but I keep at it, pouring more bleach, scrubbing until the tiles shines. I move to the table next, wiping down the edge where the blackmailer’s hand had rested, then the chairs, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop the sponge. Every creak of the building, every distant sound of a car horn, makes me flinch, my eyes dar

Things would have been different if you would have tell me that you don't remember your collage days. He clutched on the glass and broke it into pieces. He was not in his right senses. He took the piece of glass and started carving on his arm. 'I can't imagine myself without you... I never stopped loving you. It was just a blind anger. I am sorry... Please come back. You can't leave me like this. You were the only one for me and no one can take your place in my heart...' He carved her name and drenched himself in his own blood.

Lance asked, following me down to the hospital as we spoke. “It’s not something that you will understand if I explain with words,” I said nervously. The image of his drawer flashed in my head again and my smile got brighter. “Try me,” he insisted. “Okay, he poured bleach on his mate’s clothes. Trying to fix his mess and entire problem he went online to look for a solution and he saw where they asked him to use soda. Then he poured soda all over his drawer,” I said it all in one breath. Lance took a second to comprehend but then he said, “What?!”

But the lemon smell is overpowered by the horrible scent permeating the room. “What’s that awful smell?” I say, waving my hand in front of my nose. “It sucks to have a sensitive wolf nose right about now,” Callan says. “This is bleach. It’s the only thing I could think of to get the bloodstains off the floor.” “Is Ethan okay?” I ask, sitting my backside on one of the chairs. “Other than a bad hangover, he’ll be fine by tomorrow.” Callan grabs a pink-stained towel and wipes the water and bleach from the floor.