The Gentle Art Of Swedish Death Cleaning の小説・ストーリー

" I wondered who it was that had used my phone to send these messages after I died. I tried my best to recall what happened after I entered the basement. However, I could not remember anything else other than the sound of something heavy dropping onto the floor. The lights in the basement were kept on for the next few days. Layla was focused on carving a plaster head using a carving knife. She traced the eye on the head carefully with the sharp tip of the knife. The facial features on the plaster head felt so familiar that it made Layla pause. Her hands trembled slightly. Philip walked over to her and gave her a nod of approval. He pointed to the sculpture of a human figure standing in a cor

She glanced at Sophia, still unconscious but breathing steadily, and felt a surge of gratitude for her friend, for Richard, for the fragile thread of safety holding them together. The cleaners were nearly done now. The body was fully wrapped, the plastic sealed tight, ready to be carried out like so much garbage. The floor gleamed, not a trace of blood left, the chemical smell lingering faintly in the air. The stocky man zipped up his duffel, while the leaner one gave the floor one last swipe, his movements methodical, almost meditative. They worked like artists, erasing the violence with a precision that was both chilling and oddly comforting.

"His mistress finally managed to get pregnant some time back. But, when she pleaded with him to spare her, he cut her belly open. Not just her baby, but even her intestines fell out, and she ended up dying on the spot! "When she was dragged out of the dungeon, all she had left was skin and bones. She even carried a foul stench. Just hearing about it made me gag. Then, the female werewolves from the Frosthowl pack disposed of her body in Lake Frostice. "Also, about the Alpha—the werewolves in the Frosthowl pack felt that he was so out of his mind that they deemed him unable to continue holding the position of Alpha. So, they overthrew him.

Wesley followed close behind, cracking jokes to keep spirits up, his energy lighter but his eyes serious. After the last of them had been wheeled out, I stood in the middle of the car, surrounded by silence. The cabin looked like a war zone. Open water bottles rolled across the floor. Used barf bags sat bloated in the corner. Blankets and jackets were strewn across the seats. The air still hung heavy with the sour stench of vomit and disinfectant. I grabbed a clean towel and began wiping down a row of seats. I wasn’t on staff. It wasn’t my job. But I needed to do something.

********* Two days later. Cara's POV I am feeling everything at once, but in the same time, nothing at all. My inside feels heavy yet light. I am cold, I am so cold. I can feel myself breathing, I feel the air push in and out of my lungs, I can feel my heart beating, pumping against my rib cage. I am alive, I know that I am alive but a part of me dies as they lower the casket into the ground. The coffin is dark stained cherry and it is perfectly polished. It has a cushioned and a silky lining. I want to touch it, will they let me touch it? I want to open it and see him one last time, would they let me do that?

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

*Death's POV* I could hear her thoughts and I could smell her. Faster. Faster. Faster. She thought and my hand moved faster on my erect cock. I could hear her as she orgasmed and a loud cry left her lips as my cum squirted out of me with a groan of her name. I wanted to hear her cry my name as she cummed. A knock on my door happened, "Hold up," I say as I pull up my zipper and quickly take some paper cleaning my cum from the wall, "Come in,"

The wedding photos on the wall, the carefully preserved family portraits—everything I once treasured—went straight into the trash. It was already past midnight by the time I finished cleaning up and lay down to rest. But just as I fell asleep, a loud crash jolted me awake.

It’s dull in here thanks to boarded windows but light is shining through the cracks brightly now, illuminating enough, telling me daylight has come. I follow him, taking in the almost Scandinavian, Ikea style, and minimalism of his room. He likes space, and neatness, with very few items cluttering it up. Neutral tones, light woods, plants and lots of floor, and open calmness. It’s clean and airy and almost obsessively organized.

The atmosphere smells of rotten things, which makes me think that my body was thrown into the ground that Ryan dug for those that were killed in the arena ground. Blinking my eyes twice, I managed to make them adjust to my background, and my guess was right. I was on deep ground. The dead bodies of soldiers and other people filled the whole place, which was producing a foul smell. Gathering all my strength, I managed to drag my body up, and the desire to taste water increased in my body, as my throat felt drier. That is when I remember that I can control all the elements, and a smirk crept into my lips at the thought of that.