What Was Cliff Burton'S Cause Of Death?

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses. Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother." Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had. "Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury." But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room. In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars. "It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?" What she never knew was this— On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

After my fiance’s childhood friend found out I was born with a heart condition, she secretly poured a high-dose energy drink into my champagne. The moment I drank it, my heart started racing, and stabbing pain spread through my chest. In a panic, I tore open my only emergency medication, but the water I used to take it had been swapped with strong lemon water. As soon as I drank it, my face went pale. I lost all strength and collapsed to the ground. “Lemon water’s full of vitamin C. It helps with hangovers and keeps you healthy.” Charlotte Whitmore laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. With her arms crossed, she looked at my fiance, Ethan Cross, the boss of the Rolling Stones. “Ethan, your fiancee’s acting is incredible! “I’ve been a doctor for years, and I’ve never seen anyone react like this to a little champagne and lemon water.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The pain made my eyes sting, and I clutched Ethan’s leg. “Honey, please, call an ambulance! I can’t take it anymore…” For a moment, his expression wavered, but the guests quickly cut in. “Come on, stop pretending! Nobody dies from a bit of champagne and lemon water.” “Yeah, you’re just jealous Charlotte got promoted and didn’t want to toast to her.” Ethan’s face turned cold again. He yanked my hand off and stepped away. “Charlotte’s a doctor. You’ll be fine with her here.” I stopped begging and texted my father asking for help.

In the final second before the elevator crashed down, my husband finally picked up my desperate call for help. I begged him, who was in charge of elevator maintenance, to save me. "That elevator was just serviced. What game are you playing?" he snapped. "Wasn't your silent treatment so strong? Keep going and stop bothering me. It's Marina's birthday today." I never reached out to him again. I died. Later, he'd have given anything just to see me one more time.

On the third day after my death, Eliza Sutton received the call to claim my body. She was resting in another man's arms. She said nonchalantly, "He's dead, huh? Just cremate it and call me afterward." My body was fed to the flames and reduced to ashes. When the staff were done, they contacted Eliza again. Irritation flashed in her eyes as she snapped, "I heard you. I'm on my way."

When the earthquake struck on what should have been our fourth wedding anniversary, my supposedly devoted and family-oriented husband, Lionel Brooks, abandoned me and our children, who were trapped under the rubble. Despite our children's pleas for help, Lionel left without a second thought, carrying his former flame, Fiona Smith, and her daughter to safety. While Fiona and her daughter escaped with minor injuries, my precious children had their chests pierced by steel beams, leaving this world forever. It was such a twisted fate. What was meant to be a day of celebration turned into an annual day of mourning for my beautiful children. A week later, during my children's funeral, Lionel had the audacity to call and ask which hospital the kids were in. It was laughable—after ensuring Fiona and her child were comfortable and safe, he finally found time to check on his flesh and blood. I could only say, "You finally remembered your children after a whole week? Lionel, I hope you rot in hell."

When I found out I was pregnant, Elroy Lousteau went all out—hired some fancy doctor, loaded me up with meds to "protect the baby." He'd never believed in anything before, but suddenly he went to church, praying like his life depends on it. "You've been through hell, babe. Once the baby's here, I swear I'll make it right." That same day, I picked up his phone by accident. "As instructed, the meds include a compound for permanent infertility. The baby will be stillborn. "Ms. Tillon's baby is healthy and will be delivered safely—as the true Lousteau heir. "Mrs. Lousteau won't suspect a thing. Your relationship's secure. You can rest assured." I looked down at my belly. He never loved me. Not really. So I made up my mind—once the divorce papers were signed, I was gone. No looking back.