You Smell
By Ciadish
- 759 reads
The flickering, fluorescent lights hummed. Charcoal and candyfloss scented the air. Alice winced as perfume invaded. Lucy was kind but pungent. Alice knew it was rude to say, "You smell," - though she thought toxic perfume was rude. She’d have preferred BO to sticky-fake sweetness.
Alice held her breath, but Lucy monologued. Alice’s chest burned and ears rang. She leaned away, nauseated, no brain-space to respond. Thankfully, someone interrupted. Escape!
Lucy's scent invaded, but Alice found an uninfected corner. A tentative breath established it was safe. She greedily inhaled: frying onions, with a hint of person. Alice’s head span in the crowded room. She could hear conversations she should join but it felt too late once she’d processed her thoughts. She didn't want to embarrass herself.
"Here she is. Alice, meet..."
Lucy! White noise. Alice tried to smile but her internal panic alarm screamed, ‘You’re three breaths from migraine.’
"Thanks, I..." Alice's brain crashed, "…need the loo."
Had she smiled? She couldn't remember. She only just remembered to walk towards the toilets. They were disinfectant scented, but it cut through the sickliness tainting her nostril-hairs: an olfactory reset.
Alice splashed her face with water, then hid in a cubicle. There was no lock so she sat on the toilet, one leg outstretched, toe pointed towards the door. Her face itched as if she'd been crying. There was no paper. She wiped it with her fleece, comforted by her own scent-blandness. Her nose ran. She sniffed to avoid a snail-trailed sleeve.
The door vibrated as another bathroom door slammed. Alice’s calf burned as she stretched, fearing discovery. A pause, then liquid on liquid, making Alice wish she'd thought to lower her tights. She felt an urge but didn't want to move, risking exposure.
A flush, another door, voices - "Hello, you..." - then chatter. Alice was trapped. Then came the smell. Lucy! Alice inhaled her arm again. She wished she smelled less neutral now. Oh, for rosemary oil. Or - yes - another slam. It was just her and Lucy in the bathroom now - and Lucy was occupied.
Alice pushed the door, bundled her body tightly and moved fast. Her ankle sent a warning shot up her shin and her knee spasmed. Still she sped, out the toilet, through the hall. Five more steps... four... three... two ...one… Freedom!
Alice scurried from the sign reading, 'Fun Day.'
As the street emptied, Alice’s heartbeat slowed. Her tinnitus lessened. She noticed the drifting clouds. A blackbird sang. The air became wet to bursting, raindrops soaking her clean. Torn sky breathed tarmac scented, no-nonsense air into her lungs.
Alice stepped onto the canal bank as the sun ushered the rain away, making her squint. Duckling squeaks mingled with more senior quacks. The green air grew floral with elderflower. Dramatic splashing unsettled her until she saw the swan, now gliding. Her spirits rose with the petrichor.
As Alice reached her front door and opened it, she breathed deeply.
It smelled of home.
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Comments
Sensory overload
...is a phrase often misunderstood to be a mild irritation. This is so vivid.
Well done
Lena xx
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smell (or scent) is, as you
smell (or scent) is, as you know, usually a backgrorund in stories. Often, not even that. Well done putting it to the fore.
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