2pac Autopsy Photo

Thanks to my dad's work, I have to transfer schools. Soon, I go to my new school to register for my enrolment. After submitting my personal information, the teacher in charge shoots me an odd look. "Is your father Mr. Chapman, the new shareholder? His child should have enrolled with us a long time ago. In fact, his daughter is half a year older than you. You're not that person at all…" Stunned, I dig out my phone and show my photo with my dad to the teacher. She glances at the photo before showing me the system window. "Mr. Chapman's daughter has been studying in this school since the first term. He even donated a library to the school recently. This is a photo the school board has taken. You can take a look yourself." In the photo, my dad and an unfamiliar student can be seen standing at the school's bulletin board. That young lady looks as old as I do. Her features are similar to my dad's. In fact, she resembles him more than I do! If they are an actual father and daughter pair, then who am I?

The fake principessa of the Italvia's mafia had accidentally discovered that I was the long-lost true principessa of the Esposito family. Terrified that I would take everything from her, she posted a bounty in the local mafia heirs' chat: Whoever could get a photo of me in bed and ruin my reputation… She would marry that person. However, even after the Esposito family officially acknowledged me, not a single photo ever reached her. Frustrated, she stormed into the chat, demanding an explanation. I sighed, thinking how utterly naive she was. How could they possibly send her a photo of me in bed? After all… They were the ones acting like dogs for me in bed.

I went abroad for a year to further my studies and kept in touch with my girlfriend through video calls every day. One day, I saw her first love posted a photo with a caption: [We are finally back together after ten years!] In the photo, my girlfriend was visibly pregnant, holding the arm of the man next to her with a sweet smile.

I booked a consultation with a renowned traditional medicine practitioner six months in advance to treat my surgeon wife's arousal disorder over the holidays. However, on the appointment date, Wendy did not show up. Just as I was about to call to question her, I noticed a photo her male friend had posted on social media. In the photo, my usually aloof wife was hugging the guy with a radiant smile. The caption read: [Only I can cure your problem.] But what caught my attention was my wife's flushed face in the photo, clearly displaying signs of arousal. With a cold smirk, I immediately liked and commented: [You must have magic fingers that work wonders!] The comment section exploded, with everyone speculating whether I would tear my wife's lover apart. What awaited my wife was our official divorce after the cooling-off period ended.

As my murderer's claws tear into my abdomen inch by inch, my father and brother are seated in our family's banquet hall. They're celebrating Carly's 18th birthday and coming-of-age. "You'll always be my little girl." "Happy birthday, Carly." They light 18 pink candles for her. On top of the exquisite red velvet cake is a wolf figurine that they carved for her, and there are well wishes and laughter all around. Meanwhile, I'm curled up in a sewer filled with liquid silver as I bleed to death. My phone has been crushed, and I can't get out. I can only cry for help. A few days later, my father and brother show up together at the autopsy room. My brother stands by the operating table with a scalpel. He slices open the body and sews it back up like it's nothing. My father just covers his nose as he shoots a disgusted glance at my body. He urges my brother to hurry up with the autopsy report. "The victim is a young female wolf presumed to be of pure lineage. Before her death, she was subjected to prolonged captivity and torture. Her throat is nearly severed, her cervical spine is dislocated, and her chest cavity has collapsed. She was also injected with liquid silver before death." Hearing the report, my father looks so calm that it's just like a case study of no consequence. Neither of them can recognize that the body belongs to me—their daughter and sister!

Tears were flowing through her cheeks from her blood shot eyes. Sniffing painfully she sat on the edge of bed. Her tears filled eyes were stuck on the shattered photo frame which she throw out of anger and pain. It was their marriage photo frame, the same photo which she used to admire once. But now, the same photo disgusts her whenever she looks at it.It sometimes the things which gives you happiness, the same things can give you pain too. Their whole room is a mess, just like her life. Wiping her tears Koushalya looked at those torn dairy pages along with few photo lying on floor , in which her husband was kissing another women. Love was visible in his eyes, sad thing is the love wasn't for her, it was for another women. Nothing can be more painful then, knowing your loved one loved Someone else more than you. She trusted him wholeheartedly, and now when she found out his secret , he lost the trust which she had on him. Koushalya, blankly stared the floor, her mind was telling her to leave him but her heart was begging her to stay. Somewhere, between her mind and heart she lost herself, her soul. Will she ever able to find her lost soul in that dark world of Sanjiv ? **** Meet Koushalya, Women with passion and broad thinking. Everything was perfect about her until she met Sanjiv, who showed her how does it feels to die slowly without letting anyone know. Somewhere between her husband Sanjiv and the fear of society she lost her own self. Will she find herself again ? -- I, Aarti Shankar welcoming you all in life of koushalya. To know further read the story and leave a review/feedback after reading it.

My once best friend posted a photo on her social media account on the tenth anniversary of my marriage. In the photo, her daughter and my son were wrapped in my husband's and her arms. The caption said, 'The perfect pair.' I commented, 'Perfect indeed.' Soon, the post was deleted. The next day, my husband rushed home and asked me, "Sophie is finally recovering. Why are you provoking her?" My son even pushed me and accused me, "It's all your fault for making Tammy cry." I took out the divorce papers and threw them in their faces. "Well, it's my fault, so I quit your perfect family of four."

Celeste Cox sent me a photo on WhatsApp. I opened it to find a picture of the school heartthrob and me in an intimate embrace, the pose as suggestive as could be.

My boyfriend is a forensic artist. He was forced to make a harrowing decision to save his first love. At the killer's demand, he created a portrait from a photo—he never realized that the young girl in the photo was me in my childhood. Two weeks later, the police investigate a grisly bomb explosion and dismemberment case. The victim's identity was unrecognizable, and the investigation dragged on for days as the authorities desperately searched the blast site, looking for my remains. After three days and nights, they finally recovered enough of my remains to reconstruct my face. When my boyfriend unknowingly brought the shattered fragments back to life with his art, he was confronted with a horrifying truth—one that drove him to the edge of madness.

On my wedding day with Jack Miller, he ran off with his first love As if to taunt me, he would send a photo of himself with her from every new destination they visited. I was getting a manicure and enjoying imported French pastries with my afternoon tea when I received their ninety-ninth photo. But after three years of absence, Jack suddenly returned. He pointed at my wedding photo with someone else and shouted, “How dare you fool around with another man while I was gone!" I couldn't help but laugh. "What other man? I've been married to my husband for three years now." "Jack, you didn't actually think I was waiting for you all this time, did you?"