Bleach Writing Novels & Stories

If I stopped typing, the memory of her flat would crawl back up my spine. ​I had used my spare key at 7:00 AM. The air inside her place had smelled wrong not like stale dust or unwashed dishes, but like industrial bleach masking something metallic. Her bookshelves were bare. Not looted, not overturned in a struggle, but deliberately cleared. The hooks where her winter coats usually hung were empty. Even the sticky notes she kept plastered around her desk monitor had been peeled off, leaving faint square outlines in the dust. ​They hadn't just taken her. They had erased her.

His startled scream follows me to the table where I wipe the excess blood from my hands. There's a bottle of water and a decanter filled with scotch with glasses beside it. I fill up a glass with scotch and take a few sips before placing it back on the table. Stooping to get the bleach from the ground, I turn back to Kostas who is finally silent and trying to breathe through the waves of pain. Kneeling to my art on his leg, I open the bottle, the smell sharp enough to sting even through the air. I tilt the bottle watching the clear liquid as it trickles before becoming a steady stream moving through his wounds. Kostas jerks as the bleach eats into the cut tissue letting out gasps of pain.

⁠ I⁠ tied a‍ rag around‍ my face like a mask. I po​ured b‍l⁠each on t⁠he floor.⁠ I​ poured bleach‌ on the walls. The s​mell was overp‍ower⁠ing, ch‍emica‍l and sha‍rp‌.​ It burned my‌ e⁠yes, but I lov‍e‍d‌ it. It smelle‌d⁠ like purity. ‍I scrubbed the c‍oncrete⁠ on my h‍ands an⁠d‌ knee​s.⁠ I scrubbed the toilet‌. I s⁠crubbed the s‍ink.

The rumble of Kael’s heavy motorcycle engine faded into the ambient hum of city traffic, leaving the garage feeling suddenly vast and exceptionally quiet. Chloe didn’t say anything right away. She walked over to the workbench, set the heavy cardboard box of brake pads down with a dull thud, and began slicing the packing tape with a utility knife. Her movements were methodical, but her brow was furrowed, her brain clearly working overtime to process the massive, intense stranger who had just walked out.

For a moment, I was back there in a life I didn’t want to remember, surrounded by faces I’d long tried to forget. I tore my gaze away, heart pounding a little faster. I couldn’t let it show. Not even a hint of that past could resurface. Not here. Not now. I squared my shoulders and nodded at my reflection. “Time to bleach you out of existence.” The smell of bleach filled the tiny bathroom, making my nose wrinkle in disgust. I felt like I was withering away. It was pungent, seeping into every corner, mixing with the dampness of old tiles and mildew. I worked quickly, fingers gloved and precise, painting over every traitorous strand until I was satisfied. I watched as the brown vanished, repla

The "Hard Reset" was a wall of white light that moved with the speed of an editor’s eraser. In the Author’s Study, the infinite bookshelves began to "Bleach," the titles of a thousand "Norths" vanishing into the grey static. The Author himself was unravelling, his "Ink Black" eyes turning into two hollow voids of "Cancelled Narrative."

I'll be posting prompts for story openings based on our ongoing contests, successful outlines and designs, and if you are up for it, take it and write it out~ Come back to me with your own story and I have contracts to offer~ (well, if you already have a senior editor with GN, go to them :P ------- All red. In my white wedding dress, under the white arch, surrounded by my favorite white lilies, the day that supposed to be my happiest day turned all red, by the blood of my yet-to-be-new-husband.

"Yeah, not yet an official writer. I'm just a synopsis writer. But that's not a problem. From now on, there will be many people who will read my writing. For me, it was a lot of fun." Axel was stunned to see Blair, who looked so happy and excited. A sweet smile bloomed on the girl's lips. Rarely does Blair smile; even more often, she seems gloomy and sad. Unfortunately, Axel only briefly enjoyed Blair's smile. "I will write a story about my life journey, which is problematic. The people who read my writing will learn a lot of lessons and wisdom from the mistakes and stupidity that I have made.” Now Blair is really sombre. She had just regretted one of the phases of her life.

His face grim, Colin snorted, "Where did you find this actor? His acting skills are pretty convincing. But no, this won't work. You abused Joyce's cat. We were just gonna let it slide if you apologized to her, but you're too stubborn. Get over here, or you'll never get a glance from me again." At such a point, he was still trying to frame me. I glared at him and looked at my bloody hands from his stomps. I had a knack for painting. With Lauren's support, I never gave up. Once, I beat another girl in a competition, and she came after me. Colin stepped in like a fierce protector. Now he was the one hurting me most. I looked away, refusing to move. His patience wearing thin, he growled, "Come o

“Stop faking it. A little blood won’t kill you. I’m not Martin. I won’t be fooled by your act.” She had the guards lock me in the walk-in freezer. “The cold will reduce dizziness from the blood loss. Once Tricia doesn’t need more blood, you can come out. It’s for your own good.” “No, don’t! I’ll die if you leave me here.” Nausea and dizziness pushed me toward the freezer door. I tried to wedge the iron door open, but the mechanism pinched and crushed two of my fingers. The pain was white-hot, nearly making me faint.