Novelas y relatos de Dead Simple

Dust motes floated like restless spirits in the stale air, settling slowly on the shattered remnants of violence. Unity's body sagged, collapsing to the cold, unforgiving floor with a heavy, final thud. Her pale shirt bloomed crimson, the dark stain spreading in uneven pools, like ink spilled over a cracked canvas. Yet, even in death, there was something unsettling about her, the faintest curl of a smile lingered on her lips, a ghost of triumph, a defiance that refused to be silenced. The smile was almost cruel in its mockery, as if death itself was just another step in her relentless game.

“Hm. So what are you doing here?” What was he supposed to say? “Are you dream walking?” She sounded intrigued. The nearly dead had a way of knowing things the living couldn’t even begin to understand. “In a manner of speaking. It’s more like … dream observing.” “Well,” she said, turning away to look at the group of mourners standing around her grave, “not much to observe here, is there?” He smiled. “You’re here.” “I’m boring.” “No, you’re not.” “I’m dying. Dying people are boring – we don’t have much to say.”

I crossed my arm. “Dash is dead.” *silence* . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"But he never woke up." Current Seraphina covered her mouth. Current Killian staggered backward. "No." Nyx's smile widened. "Oh yes. He died at six. Fragment Sickness. Slow. Painful. Unavoidable." Older Seraphina hugged the blanket tighter. "He kept asking... 'Did Daddy forget me?'" Killian dropped his sword. The sound echoed, loud and painful. Because he could imagine it: Aiden, weak, burning with fever, waiting, hoping, believing—and dying without ever seeing him.

He said gently, "Sadie, let the past die with yesterday. From now on, you will be reborn anew. I hope your days from here on will be filled with joy." Standing on the rooftop, Nemera raised her champagne glass, clinking it against his before drinking it all in one breath. "Now, I have only one regret left," Nemera said softly. "What is it?" Noah asked. Nemera looked at him with a strange smile. "Well, my regret is… that you're still alive." "What did you say?" Noah's eyes widened. Suddenly, he clutched his head and dropped to his knees. "How's the champagne with a little something extra?" she asked sweetly.

As I do so, a strange explosion fills my stomach, triumphant that finally there's a replacement of Jordan Crown's beauty. A bit skips as our hands intertwine. Time seems to tick beyond count and age blurs into each other. The entire universe collapsed back to BigBang and was reborn. Stars and planets dies and scatters into the dark nothingness. For these five seconds of staring, nothing else holds significance. Just two windows and a gaze into a moment. Nothing else. Just a stare before the explosion. “Keila Taylor.” We shake hands.

I was starting to get tired but I didn't want to stop running, the voice kept mocking me while I kept repeating mentally that I should wake up. -Mortals are very stubborn, if you keep running you will only get tired. -¡Shut up! -Escape is useless. -¡Shut up! -¿You know you're running in circles, don't you? He laughed again and I stopped running. I looked around and realized that everything looked the same. I knelt before the voice and begged it to wake me up. The being appeared in front of me and was sympathetic to me, made me stand up and wiped away my tears.

The blame rests entirely upon my actions. His arms tightened around me. Against my hair he murmured the words, "No, it’s not." My attempts to halt the progression proved futile. The sensation of it taking place reached my awareness. That spiraling sensation. The oppressive burden suffocates and compresses. The event extended beyond her mere passing. This event marked his demise as well. The memories returned with relentless force, sweeping through my consciousness as an unyielding tidal surge. An additional firearm discharge occurred. Another friend gone. A lifeless body rests at my feet.

(DECLAN’S POV) Demons don’t die. I never believed it, but here he It is—A dagger buried in his chest, neck stabbed, his blood soaking my pants—Yet his pulse flickers. Faint, but alive. “He’s not dead!” Dakor barks, pain lacing his voice. “Wanted in fifty-four countries and greatest felon alive. You’d have to do more than that.” Rifles click. Boots scuff against tile. And Dakor shifts, clutching his bleeding thigh.

Undead had terrible naming sense. It seems that it wasn’t just their lives that had been lost when they died. Just like Muscles was a direct expression of his name, Slender was also an exact definition of his name. His prominent clavicular and rib bones as well as his overtly expressed zygomatic bone and temporalis muscle were enough to show that he was wasted. While he was tall, he was as slim as a broom and would have been mistaken for a terminally ill man if he wasn’t already dead. Standing with Muscles, they drew such a stark contrast between themselves that it was almost comical; however, the Undead with them didn’t think so.