(Brace yourselves, people. This is the first time my writing has seen the light of day. Go nuts.)
EDIT: (Thank you everyone for your compliments and critiques!)
He was suffocating in lavender.
The scent was a key to opening a floodgate of memories. It was his worst nightmare relived, revived, and made a hundred times more painful. It was the aroma of guilt heavy on his tongue, pressing on his heart. It was her.
It had to go.
Alex Papoulis came into his dead sister’s room with six things—two laundry baskets, a sponge, a bucket of soapy water, Lysol, and a mission. He didn’t want to have to lie in bed every night, breathing in the memory. He didn’t want to be assaulted with depression every time he walked past her room and caught the scent. He wanted it gone, and he was going to have to do it himself.
That was the problem with death. It was so inconvenient. It could take away everything that you hold dear, everyone close to your heart, but still leave a mess behind for you to clean up. Death had a scent that was once faintly soothing turned into something repugnant. Death had Alex ransacking his sister’s closet and hamper, stuffing every article of clothing she owned into a laundry basket, and spraying the empty space with Lysol, just for good measure. Death had Alex on his hands and knees, scrubbing away at her floorboards with safe citrus-scented soap in attempt to lift some of the reminder off the floor. And Death had him frozen at the window, looking at a mid-day sky that was the color of false happiness.
“Could it at least be a gloomy afternoon?” he muttered under his breath as he attacked her bedspread, tossing it into the basket. “Of course not. It has to be a beautiful day, with stupid chirping birds and laughing children.” He scowled at the injustice of it all. The world outside should fit his mood. Instead, it kept on going after the accident as if nothing had happened.
But Alex knew better. Everything had happened.
He made quick work of it all, going around the room in stations and shoving every inch of lavender out of the way. Each sock tossed into the basket was a second of her life spent crushed in the driver's seat, each swipe of the sponge one of her final breaths. How many minutes until that last scream died out? Five? Ten? Had it been instant? He would never know.
When he was done, he opened the window to let the last remnants of her escape into the sky.
He smiled grimly and, lugging the laundry baskets, disappeared out of the room smelling like lavender and Lysol.
welcome to YWS 
> I want to read more, find out about the person, why they're drowning in lavender and what is going on! Very effective first line, well done 
