A 1000 Ways To Die Novels & Stories

My phone had barely lasted for three hours before it died from the drop in temperature. In the end, Julian never came to pick me up. The last thing I saw before my phone died was Natalie's new Instagram post. It was a selfie she'd taken in front of Julian's car, with half of his face captured in the frame. "If we can brave the snow, we can face a lifetime together," the caption read. The black phone screen reflected the relieved smile on my face. On the day I kept my promise and made my 99th proposal, he chose to spend it at a concert with Natalie.

"Goodnight Daddy." He did not answer. But I knew this was only the beginning. I went up to my room with his taste still on my tongue and his fingers still burning inside me. The rain kept falling but I was no longer scared of it. I was scared of how much I wanted more. **100 Ways to Damn Yourself**

When I heard the news about the two of them again, months had already passed. Rumor said that Theodore hated Samantha so much that he hired someone to crush her hands, so she could never play a piano ever again. Then, he had her imprisoned in a mental hospital. After Samantha had injured Theodore, she was already mentally very unstable. She would keep on rambling that she was a genius pianist.

He inserted his dick into me and began to move fast and rough movements. When he did what he wanted, he left me motionless on the floor. "Hope you die slowly and painfully, bitch." he said and spat at me. The only thing I could see was that his partner Michael was standing up. Apparently the wound was only superficial. "Tom .." "Come on, Mike, let's get out of here. This bitch is dead anyway," he looked at me, knowing I was on the verge of death. They left me to die alone and helpless in that shack. He killed my husband in front of me. I stood there for hours, praying to die.

I state. *Fucking nailed it,* Dozer says, over mind-link. I draw a deep breath, feeling like the worst of it is over. When Bruce sits down and the dork Norman gets up, Mick paces in my head. “How many people have you killed Travis,” he asks. Cheap shot. I keep a straight face and don’t flinch. *Yeah we’ll leave the next body on his porch so he can see what trash we take out,* Shock says, over mind-link.

ALISA’S POV The live stream had ended thirty minutes ago, but the city didn’t need me to sign off. It was already voting with every share, every comment, every desperate phone call flooding Kael’s inbox. I stood in the middle of the penthouse living room, barefoot on cool marble, wearing only one of his black shirts that skimmed my thighs. The claiming mark on my shoulder throbbed in time with the bond—golden threads pulsing warm and constant, like they were sealing us into something eternal. Kael paced three steps away, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and lethal as he dismantled yet another threat.

Only I could turn what was supposed to be a romantic, moving proposal into such a humiliating scene. And the worst part was that I'd already been through this 99 times. Isabelle and I had been together for seven years, from ages 23 to 30. I'd already proposed 99 times, and today was my hundredth. On every previous proposal, she'd refused me, saying that her childhood friend, Ronald Shaw, hadn't married yet, and she couldn't break their promise.

"You'll say anything, won't you? "And on top of that, Scarlett was busy working. You're trying to pin this on her? "Are you even human?" Seth chimed in as well. "Exactly. We don't even know if this person actually died or not, and yet he's pulling this stunt to scare everyone."

I saw myself curled up on the pile of hay. My body lay there, my face pale, and my lips purple. I had forgotten that I was already dead and couldn’t touch anyone anymore. The witch was right. Bella would die at sixteen. It was just that no one expected mine would end first before Bella’s time ran out. I died on Bella’s sixteenth birthday, when my mom said, “Just bear with it.”

The morgue was cold, carrying a foul, sterile smell. Expressionless staff pushed me into a metal drawer. With a soft "click," the door closed. The system's voice echoed in my mind. [Death confirmed. Final storyline completed.] [Countdown to soul departure: 71 hours 59 minutes.] [Please await the opening of the passage.] I drifted in the cold, hollow air and let out a breath. Finally, things were coming to an end.