Better Off Dead Book Novels & Stories

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

Dead. "Fine," I whispered. "I give up. What do you want?" Axel looked away, pulling a document from his jacket. "Sign this. End it. It's better for everyone." I took the document with a shaking hand. The document twisted the truth into an unrecognizable knot.

"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."

Is that a reason why I am alright to die now? Is my present not needed anymore? Is that why the comic and this world is killing me? i can't stop thinking what should happen to me if i didn't go to the west but what could i possibly do now i will die tomorrow this cold and dark place i can't see any hope that we will leave the rotten smell of this place is littering in my body i know that i smell like dead people but i don't really care suddenly i feel like my senses shuts down all i care right now is to die in peace i want to die quietly maybe i should ask them to just stab me with their sword i don't care how many times they want to do it but at least i will not feel that my body is being b

I know that magic is just an illusion, a trick. Dusting my clothes, I made my way toward my team. They had now assembled themselves in one place, their eyes still holding surprise, and I could guess that they were waiting for me to explain. The crowds were as silent as a graveyard. They weren't making any of their stupid noises, and I am sure they were still trying to recover from the shock of seeing me again. That made me remember a story in the Bible that our Sunday school teacher told us about. It was the story of a man named Lazarus who was resurrected from the dead. The only difference between us is that I have been dead for two months, or should I say suffering and wandering around an

“We’re all birds in a cage.” “Okay, I’m going to put your hand on my ribcage, and I need you to breathe with me,” Heather says. Everything just happens to me when I’m a bird. I let her take my wrist. Her skin is warm under my hand. Up and down. Up and down. “Like that,” she says. “Just inhale, then exhale.” Inhale. Ryan is dead. Exhale. Ryan is dead. Inhale. I’m… not dead?

Life couldn’t have been better. Despite that, I couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the Duttons were up to. I knew that as long as they didn’t find a body, they wouldn’t declare a death. This led to endless speculation in society about whether the two of us were truly dead. Rumors and gossip spread everywhere, but I remained unmoved. Every day, I soaked up the sun, watched handsome men by the sea, and lived a life of pure indulgence. After half a year, though, I started to get a little bored.

“Did any of them say ‘I’m glad I’m dead because death is better than slavery’? Did any of them say ‘I died for decency and it’s better than being alive’? Did any of them say ‘I’ve been rotting for two years in the earth in silence and darkness, but see how lovely it is to die for your native land’?” - Johnny Got His Gun * * * *

He said nothing but something in his eyes told me that he already knew. "It was your dear mother, it's funny you know... because I thought she was dead." My tone changed, losing the fake playfulness it held moments ago, a frown creased my forehead, "Wasn't she?" I pressed my palms on both sides of the handrest and leaned forward, "You see, when I kill someone, they're supposed to stay dead." I rolled my eyes, "But for some reason, all the dead people in my life somehow come back to life and they make their way into mine and screw it up."