Angry Grandpa Body Bag Mga Nobela at Kwento

"You're awake." "Please," I begged hoarsely, "save my grandpa. He's old and in poor health. If he stays in prison, he'll die!" I knew Whitney and Nathan didn't intend to let Grandpa stay alive after sending him to prison. If he died, there would be no one left to testify. No matter what, I couldn't let that happen. "Don't worry. We're already investigating the situation. Your body is very weak right now, so rest up—that's your top priority."

She treated me horribly just so she could secure a big house for Uncle Daniel and his family and gather enough money for Ashton to buy a marital home. A potent mixture of anger and humiliation coursed through her. Grandma's chest tightened painfully. Her mouth fell open as she tried to call for help, but the only noises that came out were labored wheezes. A few seconds later, she lost all sensation in half of her body and crumpled to the floor. Grandma wasn't pretending this time. She was actually having a stroke. Drool leaked from the corners of her mouth uncontrollably. A foul stench wafted from her pants.

If it weren't for his good luck, he would have really been in trouble tonight. When I got home, the doctor was already waiting, and someone spoke at that moment. "Mr. Reid, do you want me to tell the old man?" Marvin found it funny. What's the use of telling Grandpa about this? The whole situation of Big Brother's death was suspicious, but in the end, they just hastily prepared for the funeral and didn't investigate further. Who knows what Grandpa was thinking in his heart. He took a deep breath, sweat dripping from his forehead, until the bullet was removed and fell into the plate, making a crisp sound.

"Welcome, grandpa," we said as we approached him and bowed respectfully. "Let's sit down," he invited. Then, he sat in the middle of us. Sam and I sat on the left and right. Sam held Jean while I carried Nick. Grandpa looked at Jean and Nick. As usual, there was no smile on his lips. His face still looked stiff and arrogant. His hands rested on the stick he always carried everywhere. The suit he was wearing was immaculate and looked expensive, even his shoes were shiny.

I paused and waved it aside as the crowd came into view. Surrounded by a group of pack members dressed in black was a golden casket bearing my grandfather’s lifeless body. There were cottons inside his nose holes, and he had been dressed in a blue suit to look presentable to the moon goddess. There were candles and lily flowers that he loved so much around his casket. Setting my shoulders, I sauntered towards the freshly-turned earth, shovel in hand. "I don't want to hear any more about it," I told Michael gruffly. "Her guilt is obvious; we are wasting time debating the obvious. It’s our grandfather we are talking about here."

The steel treads pressed against my back. The engine roared to life. Black smoke swallowed us whole. Jerry shook violently, terrified, but he wrapped his arms around me, trying to steady me instead. "Tiff… Don't be scared… Don't be scared…" he mumbled, his words slurred. Then, all of a sudden, he pointed at my grandfather's body. "They fed… Grandpa… medicine…" My entire body jolted. My grandfather had always been strong. How could he have died so suddenly? Had his death been tied to Marshall and the rest of them?

... The voice struck like lightning, silencing the hall. All eyes turned to the entrance, where an elderly man stood, leaning on a cane. Rupert Pittman stood tall, flanked by a group of bodyguards. His sharp gaze swept the room, softening with anguish when it landed on me. "Grandpa!" I cried out. Five years had aged him, his hair now fully gray, but his commanding presence hadn't dimmed. "Rupert?" Tessa gasped, the stick slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.

"Please don't take him away! Please don't leave with Ash!" Grandma looked down at Dad's tear-streaked face and said, "Let go." "Mom—" "I told you to let go!" … Grandma prepared a modest funeral for me. There was only a small, plain coffin and a set of burial clothes Grandma had bought in town. I had never worn anything so nice before. The pale sky-blue fabric was incredibly soft, with a tiny rocket embroidered on the collar—something I had always liked since I was young. Grandma's movements were very tender and deliberate as she put the clothes on me. She ordered Mom to leave the room when she wanted to lend a hand, saying, "You don't deserve to touch him."

"Alright. Time's up. Get out on your own." Silence. Her face darkened with anger as she gritted her teeth and warned, "I told you to get out, Adam! Are you going to delay Andy's burial, too?" Still, there was no response. Grandma, standing nearby, stared at the coffin with furrowed brows. Suddenly, her eyes widened in terror. She stumbled forward and fell to her knees at the edge of the pit. "Wait! Pause everything!" Daddy's eyes were swollen and red. He stepped forward and pulled her back impatiently. "Mom, what now?"

Grandpa handled my funeral all by himself. In just a few short days, his hair turned entirely white and his back slouched, as if he had aged 20 years in an instant. I watched his trembling hands select a photo of me flashing my brightest smile and placing it onto the small, cold tombstone. In the picture, I was wearing a sweater Grandpa had knitted for me by hand. My hair was neatly trimmed, and my eyes were bright and sparkling. As Grandpa stroked my face in the photograph, his tears splashed down drop by drop onto the freezing stone.