Two Dirty Windows

By Joanne Carlton

Dreaming about death is a daytime job.

Dreaming about murder, makes my life complete.

I think of every possible way to kill someone. Butchering. Slashing. Slicing and dicing. Shooting. Stabbing. Poisoning. Throwing. Pushing. Electrocuting. Accident. Hanging. Tumbling. Tripping. Breaking. Burning. Crisping. Boiling. Frying. Dead. Dying. DEATH.

It occupies my days and disturbs my nights.

It's all I can ever think about anymore. That, and Mrs. Barnaby's pies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joanne Carlton
• Release date: Jun 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386590019

Book preview

1

Dreaming about death is a daytime job.

Dreaming about murder, makes my life complete.

I think of every possible way to kill someone. Butchering. Slashing. Slicing and dicing. Shooting. Stabbing. Poisoning. Throwing. Pushing. Electrocuting. Accident. Hanging. Tumbling. Tripping. Breaking. Burning. Crisping. Boiling. Frying. Dead. Dying. DEATH.

It occupies my days and disturbs my nights.

It's all I can ever think about anymore.

I wonder what it feels like to leave this world. If someone feels pain before his soul leaves this world. Or will a dying spirit go into some kind of shock before it perishes? Will a being leave with remorse for all things left unsaid and done, or be happy it is over? I want to know, more than anything in this world. It’s all that I live for, so to speak. It fascinates me.

Not a single soul has ever come back from the dead to give answers to all of my questions. None of us knows exactly what follows after the end. All I know is this: There’s no such thing as purgatory, heaven or hell. There’s just darkness. Of that, I’m pretty sure after years of pondering about it.

Gone is gone forever, with no way of coming back to explain what it feels like to die. It makes me even more curious.

For twenty years now, five days per week, I’ve been sitting behind an old, cracked, wooden desk in the far corner of my company’s dreary, dark and isolated office in the middle of the city. I was Mr. Anderson’s first employee, recruited at the age of twenty-two, graduated without honors or pride. I left college with a degree and that was it.

I was an under-average student,