Why Do I Smell Bleach When There Is None Novels & Stories

It smelled the same. The very distinct scent of bleach and ‘white’ was everywhere in the small clinic ward attached to the hospital. Abigail sat patiently in the reception room, waiting for the nurse to call her name. The anticipation was maddening. She was unconscious the last time she entered this hospital, so Abigail had no idea that the wait was so frustrating.

I said with an awkward smile. "Are you wearing new cologne or something?" My eyes widened. "Uhh, no." "Hmm." She said as she sat up. "Maybe it's your laundry detergent." "What are you talking about?" I chuckled out. "You smell... different. I don't know if I like it. The initial scent is pleasant but then there's this weird underlying scent that's not... I don't know." I shrugged, but on the inside, I was worried. How the hell could she smell it? Ava said its completely undetectable after ingesting. But Kwen was able to smell it on me.

Phoebe The smell of an approaching deadline has a very specific chemical composition. In my small Capitol Hill studio, it wasn't the scent of clean binary code or the sterile, chilled air of Peter’s high-tech executive boardrooms. It was a dense, suffocating mixture of ninety-nine percent isopropyl alcohol, the thick, heavy drag of synthetic liquid latex, and the powdery, vanilla-scented dust of translucent setting powders that hung in the air like a localized fog under my halogen vanity lights.

"You seem worried. Look you're frowning so much I feel like you're going to leave a bad mark on yourself, you should take care of your face." I sighed realizing that I don't want to draw attention to myself right now but that smell lingered so much it made me nauseous. _ "You do not feel something? " The others tried to feel if there was something strange in the air before shaking their heads negatively. " No, I don't feel anything, and you? " "The same.." Everyone now had a heavy look on me as I couldn't ignore that smell that lingered even in the back of my mind. It had become like an obsession as I stood up looking genuinely concerned. I listened for people to complain and pointed to the

I agree with him, our packhouse, while small, is immaculate, yet the cleaning products' smell was subtle. We follow Walter towards the south of the building and through a set of double doors that reveal a long corridor with rooms down either side. A floor to ceiling window at the end of the corridor is bathing the area with sunlight. The smell of lemon bleach is even stronger here, with a subtle scent of drainage. Clearly, maintenance is needed, and the bleach is just covering the problem.

An eerie silence fills my ears as I exit her bedroom, and I instantly know. "Tabitha," I call, but only silence greets me. "TABITHA," I shout, but she doesn't answer. I throw open doors as I race through the unfamiliar home, but my mate's scent is already growing stale. It isn't a fresh living scent. It's a lingering smell mixed with some faint chemical that is quickly disappearing. I race outside and spin around while sticking my nose in the air. The chemical is stronger outside, and the sight of fresh tire skids makes the pain in my chest feel like death.

Hazel stops with me, silently listening as we both scent the air. Pine, smoke, the iron bite of cold. But under it there’s a faint, sour-sweet smell. A masking agent. Camphor. Peppermint. The same stink that turned my nose stupid at the quarry. “Smell that?” I murmur. She hums low. “Yeah.”

Then, I tug down on my pink sports bra, placing it comfortably against my ribs. When I enter the gym, the sterile smell of citrus bleach fills my nostrils and I breathe it in. It's a welcoming scent, following yesterday's stench of ass and vomit. I wonder how long it took my father to clean up after thirty boot campers ran a train on this place...

Did someone leave a tap on in one of the bathrooms? Is that why I was called home? To clean?? I hold my phone down to see the wetness. My breath hitches and my heart skips a beat at the sight. No. It’s not water. And the liquid is definitely not colourless. It is deep red. My stomach wrenches when I catch the scent of a familiar smell, pungent in the air. Metal. It’s so concentrated that it’s choking. I feel my heart skip a beat as I keep moving up. The path becomes more painted with this red liquid the further I go up. “This is not funny mom, it’s not April fools and this is not Halloween so stop joking now.” I say, warily moving up.

Only time will reveal the extent of her schemes and the consequences they will bring to all involved. “What is the fetidness smell?” As Alexa detects the unpleasant odor lingering in the air, her nose scrunches up in distaste. She directs her questioning gaze towards Blaze and Dexter, seeking an answer to the source of the smell. Dexter is feeling uneasy, avoids eye contact, and focuses on his meal. “What smell, Alexa?” Blaze, interjecting on his behalf, plays ignorant and suggests, “It probably might be coming from the kitchen, I believe.”