A 1000 Ways To Die Novels & Stories

Because he knew in advance that death would come to him, he was unafraid to observe this strange place calmly. It is a room with four white painted walls, no windows on the walls, and nothing in the room except a bed. He stared at the closed gray iron door and waited for the arrival of the Red Leafs. When those people appeared, he knew he would have to face the worst of his short life.

I didn't receive any messages or notifications that my follow request had been approved. I sat down and looked at myself in a handheld mirror. I watched as the numbers above my head slowly counted down. I had three hours to go. I wanted them to be with me on my last day in this life; I wanted to know how they would react when I died. Maybe they would be pleasantly surprised—no one cared about my life or death, after all. They were my family, but they despised me with every fiber of their being. I brought the food to the table and waited. Some oil had splashed onto my hand while cooking, and it hurt. It didn't take away from my excitement, though.

I hadn't relied on anyone or borrowed someone else's spotlight. After completing my studies, I was hired as a professor at one of the top universities in my home country of Shynear. Before returning to Shynear to teach, I decided to go on a trip around the world. Along the way, I traveled to many countries and saw many unforgettable landscapes. It wasn't until I received a call from Jessica while in the country of Appali that I learned that Carl had passed away. He accidentally tripped over a stone while on the way home after a bout of excessive drinking, hit his head, and never regained consciousness.

A brutal, calculated surgery to cut him out of my heart forever. "I won't fall apart on day 101, Silas," I whispered to the empty room, a small, chilling smile finally touching my lips. "Because by the time those hundred days are over, you will be nothing but a ghost to me." The contract was signed. The countdown had begun.

I tried to slam the door, but a reporter jammed it open. "Ms. Madison, did you have postpartum depression after giving birth?" "Have you been reading too many switched-at-birth stories?" "Why are you so obsessed with DNA tests that you're draining your savings?" The questions kept coming. I said nothing. I glanced at Wesley. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. But as they kept talking, his face hardened, turning more and more indignant. So he called them. After all this time, he'd hit his limit.

Chris's POV I don’t even know when it escapes my lips. The words slip out before I can catch them, and the second they’re in the air, I’d sell what’s left of my dignity to stuff them back down. Ten different ways to die and I just picked the loudest, stupidest one. He stands.

My girlfriend never felt safe with me. She was always testing whether I'd leave her. We were together five years. In that time, she ran three hundred tests. A month into the relationship, she called me drunk and said a man was harassing her at a bar. When I got there, I found a man holding her down, kissing her. A year and a half in, I was about to pay for my mother's surgery and found every dollar gone from my account. After I'd scrambled and borrowed and finally covered it, my girlfriend texted me, laughing: "Congratulations. You passed." It wasn't until our wedding day, when she walked in holding another man's hand, that something in me finally died.

In my sixth year of running an inn in Rimevale, I'm diagnosed with bone cancer. I leave the inn in the hands of my fiancé, Eric Jones, and head to Varenia with nothing but an old enamel mug. Once I'm there, I start a livestream called "My Last 100 Sunsets." Every day at 7:00 pm, I turn the camera toward the snowcapped mountains and make coffee just out of frame. On my 31st livestream, a comment suddenly catches my eye. "Wait. Does that mug at the edge of the frame have a V-shaped chip in it?" Six years ago, when a blizzard left us stranded in the mountains, I kept that same mug filled with hot spiced cider for Eric all night. The chat explodes. "That's Alice Graham from Veylune Inn!"

On New Year’s Eve, the girlfriend who had promised to go home with me was nowhere to be found. Instead, my close friend, Logan, sent two voice notes. “Bro, your girl is mine now! “You have no idea. Ever since we were kids, my dad only ever listens to her. One word from her is worth more than a hundred from me! It works great, I love it, and I’ll definitely use it again!” At exactly midnight, as fireworks exploded outside the window, Chloe called me, laughing. “You have no idea. Thank God I came over! Mr. Creston looked like he was ready to beat Logan up–” “Chloe,” I interrupted her. “Do you remember that my parents have been waiting to have dinner with you?” Silence fell on the other

" I'm not a terrible person so I'll let you choose your mode of death" She looked at him with disgust, if murdering his fellow human didn't make him a terrible person, then what would? " So tell me, will you like to die by hanging, poisoning, stabbing, drowning, falling off a balcony, gun shot,....." He listed a lot of dying modes to her but all she did was sob.