Bullet Heart Novels & Stories

the doctor asked them. "We are his colleagues, we don't know who his family is," Kristina approached the doctor. "You better contact his family. The patient suffered heart failure. He had cardiomyopathy," the doctor said. "What do you mean by that illness doctor, kindly elaborate as I can't understand some terms," Kristina asked the doctor. She was so shocked by Luther's condition. "Cardiomyopathy is a condition that causes the heart's muscles to harden or grow weak. In layman's terms, there is an incident that triggers his anger causing him to have a heart attack," the doctor declared to them before leaving them.

Caroline/ Evelyn’s POV: The doctor took one look at the pill and swiftly provided an answer. “Miss, this is a medication used to treat cardiovascular diseases. More specifically, it’s commonly used for myocarditis.” My heart sank like it was weighted by stones. “Myocarditis? Are you sure?” I asked, urgency in my voice. In all my years of knowing William, I’d never heard of him having any cardiovascular diseases. “Positive,” replied the doctor confidently. He handed the pill back to me. “Whoever is taking these pills has a heart condition. Guessing from the high dosage, it’s pretty serious.”

"Not now." The doctors called it hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. A fancy way of saying my heart was too big for its own good. Literally. The muscle was thickening, choking the life out of itself. Stress was the trigger. And my entire life was a pressure cooker. I’d been hiding the pills in my desk for two years. Beta-blockers. Blood thinners. Secrets. If the bullet didn't get me, the ticking clock in my chest would. Ethan stirred. His hand twitched on the bedsheet.

Harper barked, "Suspected graft rejection—start methylprednisolone IV, stat! Check troponin and BNP levels now!" Dr. Robert gripped the defibrillator paddles while Dr. Ellis injected meds, their voices overlapping in urgent rhythm. "Possible primary graft failure," Dr. Ellis snapped, sweat beading on her brow. "Push fluids and get that echo ready—what's her output?" Charlotte pressed her stethoscope to the patient's chest, fingers trembling as she called out vitals, her face draining of color. The team worked feverishly, shocking the heart back once, twice, until a fragile beat stuttered to life.

Her mother was placed in another room. When she entered the room, her knees gave way. Her brother lay still on the bed — a bandage wrapped gently around his head, wires and tubes connecting him to machines that beeped quietly beside him. The doctor had said he’d sustained a traumatic brain injury and was in a medically induced coma to help his brain rest. His skin was pale, his breathing soft but steady with the help of an oxygen tube.

I whisper, bitter, exhausted, “you really don’t have a heart.” He sets the glass down with deliberate care, then starts unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. Like this is a reveal he’s practiced. “You want to see my heart?” He pulls the fabric aside. A brand. A brutal, scarred B, burned into his flesh right over his heart. Angry. Permanent. “It stands for Blackburn,” he says flatly. “Lucinda has one too.” My stomach twists. Whatever they endured, it was hell. Real hell.

I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He let out a sigh before nodding. “Yes, luckily, he is okay. But he's currently on the ECMO, which is a life sustaining machine for critical conditions to manage heart and lungs. The bullet caused a severe damage to a part of his heart, but not exactly his heart but quite near and it's causing some severe cardiac dysfunction. I'm sorry but I'm not sure he can really survive this for 24 hours. However, the bullet will be removed in thirty minutes, there'll be a surgery but still, that changes nothing,”. Tears stung my eyes as I parted my lips but not a sound came out, not even a whisper. They all got trapped in my throat.

Greg sat on the sofa sweating while the fan was on and the room well ventilated. "Baby what's the matter" Samantha asked as she walked into the sitting room. "I'm having a serious headache" "Is that why you stayed here without coming into the room"? Greg replied with a loud and angry voice "Are you monitoring me now? Can you just leave me alone". "Baby why are you shouting at me I am only concerned about your well-being"Samantha replied. "I am sorry baby, can you go to bed".

It halted me mid-step as uncertainty gripped my chest. My heart raced, a steady drum in the silence. No one should be out on the road, not with the storm raging like a wild beast, howling and pounding against the windows. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as I stared into the blizzard that obscured everything beyond the safety of my home. Yet, amidst the swirling flurries, the headlights pulsed like a heartbeat on the distant winding road, flickering erratically through the gusts of snow.

His breathlessness intensified, each inhalation becoming a laborious effort. Upon witnessing Blaze slump to the ground, Dexter hurriedly approached. Blaze's rapid, irregular heartbeat echoed in Dexter's ears, creating a disconcerting rhythm. "Judging by the pace of your blood flow and the way your heart is beating right now, you are currently experiencing a heart attack. It appears a blood clot has blocked your coronary arteries; you would be dead in eight minutes."