Randomly Smelling Bleach Novels & Stories

I find what I’m looking for and head to my house determined. I stand at the front door, just looking at the doorknob, trying to think over what I’m about to do. Then, the images of that night flash through my mind. I turn the knob and walk in slowly. I can feel my breathing come faster as I look around. It smells like bleach, someone’s clearly come in and cleaned up the mess. It used to smell like apple cinnamon, no matter the time of year because it was my mom’s favorite scent. She’d say that every season is apple cinnamon season, and I’d always make fun of her. But that smell made it home, and now that smell is gone. Trampled over with tragedy and bleach. This isn’t my home, not anymore.

Normally, the average human cannot pick it up. I sniffed "Something wrong with the room?" I nodded "I smelled her." "Smell?" ASP Wong was incredulous "So what does it smells like and who left it?" "An odour that smelled like a mixture of rotten vegetation and deep unami. This is moderately strong and I had experienced cases when its rotten meat with a burnt smell. You felt like there is a whole canal in the room." Shu Wen sniffed and then sneezed. "The only thing I can pick up is disinfectant solution They cleansed the room. Will it affect your...your forensic?"

"That's not an answer." "It's the only one you're getting." I flip through more questions, scanning them quickly. Most are about my schedule, my habits, places I go. She's been tracking me like I'm some kind of case study. "Question seven: 'Why does your car smell like bleach sometimes?' I clean it." "With industrial-grade bleach?" "I'm thorough." Her eyes narrow dangerously. "You're being deliberately unhelpful." "I'm answering your questions." "You're deflecting." "Potato, po-tah-to."

I blinked, letting them fall down my cheeks and onto the invisibility hoodie. “Now isn’t the time for bawling.” I pushed open the door and stepped into the room. It took less than a minute to charge into the white-tiled bathroom, undress, and stand beneath a spray of scalding hot water. I slathered myself with lemon-scented shower gel to get rid of the stench of brimstone. When that didn’t work, I rushed around the bathroom, looking for every scented toiletry I could find. Shampoo, conditioners, cologne couldn’t get rid of the scent, no matter how much I applied or how many times I returned to the hot spray.

I would figure out the source of the smell without causing any conflict. The next day, I went straight to the hospital for a checkup. The results showed nothing wrong with my sense of smell. I even double-checked multiple times. Everything I could smell matched what a normal person should. Which meant the stench was real. I could smell it. Elise and her roommates couldn't. With that in mind, I bought some strong-smelling things like perfume, smoked mackerel, and blue cheese to test them. I hid them in different corners of the apartment.

Classics is a bit of a useless degree, but it seems that I was at least passionate about it. My own human scent in this room is at its worst—wrong, somehow, and very corrupt—but a heavy fog of residual bleach almost obscures it. If it hadn’t been my very own scent, I might have assumed that all the anomalies are from the chemicals lingering in the air. I modulate my breaths to take in less of the abominable melange of odours and follow the bleach to its source in the bathroom.

For what reason would they say they are somewhat greater than I recollected? Strolling closer to my arbitrary objective, I start to hear low mumbles, similar voices inside my head developing further. When I center, I can start to recognize words, a discussion streaming. However, in particular, is the scents. I can smell the residue, the air, and the loathsome smell of my garments with sharpness and clearness. However, much more grounded is the smell of three secretive items, every more stunning than the last. One is like peppermint and the other is like a tasty, ready banana. In any case, the latter is the one that is generally brilliant; a bizarre blend of flavors I can't recognize, yet ine

After a dissection class, wouldn't the smell on the students' clothes be of formaldehyde and corpses? Why would Marshmallow's apartment smell of that? My mind was in a mess, but I subconsciously denied that possibility. Marshmallow was a regular white-collar worker. How could he have that smell around him? "It probably got onto me by accident. I'll go shower now." I felt like a wreck. I scrubbed myself several times in the shower before feeling like the smell was gone.

"Then what is it? Is it the crowd?" "It's the smell," Cale said. Elion frowned. He sniffed the air. "It smells like garlic and Kieran's cologne. It's unpleasant, but not lethal." "Not that," Cale said. He tapped his nose. "Underneath. Can't you smell it?" "Smell what?" "Rotten eggs," Cale whispered. "Mercaptan." Elion froze. He knew that word. Mercaptan was the additive put in natural gas to make it detectable.

Elliot POV The air hit my face as the lift doors opened. The green emergency lights were flashing over the black marble floor, making everything look really clean and cold. Then I smelled something. Under the smell of my alpha, which is like cedar wood, there was this sweet smell that I did not like. It smelled like flowers and some kind of spice that is made in a lab. It was a perfume that rich people wear. This smell made my stomach feel bad.