Death Book Novels & Stories

The memory answers before she can stop it. Her back against the concrete pillar. The dead closing in. One hand pressed to her bleeding arm. The bag gone. Dex gone. No rescue. No miracle. Just her, laughing once because of course this was how it ended, because if she had known betrayal came with this much paperwork she would have asked for a receipt. She had still tried to get up. Even then. Especially then. “That’s a flattering way to say I died stubborn.” It was a statistically significant death. A laugh escapes her before she can catch it. Small. Ugly. Almost nothing.

Then I found the entry labeled DEATH VERIFICATION. I opened it. The report was dated sixteen years earlier. SUBJECT: Evelyne Vale Blackwood. STATUS: Presumed deceased. CAUSE: Fatal exposure during a containment breach. BODY RECOVERED: No. I stared at the screen. No body recovered. Not body destroyed. Not remains unidentifiable. No body recovered. Below the report was the name of the official who had signed the verification. DR. CALEB VOSS. I didn't recognize the name. But I recognized the symbol beside it.

I did not know how long I lay there. Time felt different after death. I could no longer feel the cold marble beneath me, but I could still see the foyer, the blood on the floor, and Adrian standing above my body as if he were waiting for me to give up the act. Death had taken my voice and left me only enough awareness to watch what came after. Adrian did not call for help right away. “Enough, Evelyn,” he said, pale but stubborn. “Your parents will be here in the morning. Stop this now.”

There was a whiteboard hanging on the wall of our house. Written right across the center was a countdown to my end. [Estimated time until Freya's heart failure: 47 days.] Every morning, my mother meticulously wiped away yesterday’s number and wrote down the new one. It was like a countdown for a store clearance sale—precise, detached, and filled with quiet anticipation. My name is Freya Mason, and I’m twelve years old. I was born with a congenital heart defect. The specialists told my family that without a three-million-dollar surgery, I wouldn't survive another six months. My father, Daniel Mason, is worth over two billion dollars. Yet, he looked at my life and said, "Three million do

She goes where she has always gone. "I found a ledger," I say, and my voice comes out in the low careful dialect I have learned from listening to her, the register of a woman asking another woman to carry what she cannot carry herself. "In the chapel vault. It has an authorization code for a death that happened two years ago, a death that was ordered from inside this family, and the code matches the payroll sheets I transcribed in my first week. The same block letters. The same purple ink. A single initial." Nonna Carmela taps her forefinger twice on the stone lip of the well.

“Will I need to sign a prenup?” “No, our ‘death contract’ as you call it will cover everything and since neither of us will be breaking it until death do us part there is no need to sign a prenub. Should I die you would be my beneficiary as in a normal marriage. Also whatever debts you have, such as school loans, become mine once you sign the papers.” “That isn’t making it any better to give up my romantic life. Men have needs but so do women. What happens when I want to, you know.”

Dark read about the Black Card while everybody was busy. "Name: Blake Aniston Rodriguez. Cause of Death: Gunshot wounds to the head. " "Time of death: 12h32." Dark and the Doctor said immediately. The noisy machine can be heard, it sounds straightforward. On the monitor of a device, you will notice the line Dark coloured red while the machine is noisy. Blake chuckled. "I'm dead. I'm dead? My child is still Dark. I'm only twenty. But I'm dead?" Blake sat weakly on the couch. He couldn't believe it.

Someone's POV ‘Death, an irreversible cessation of all vital functions a human body has. A permanent stoppage of the heart's beat. Sighing of last breath. Not being able to wake up the next morning. Unable to see how the sun rose. A reality humans fear to encounter; poor souls.’ Elle yawned as she thought to herself, tapping the table, boredly staring nowhere. From time to time, her eyes would caught a glimpse of the doctor who was scrolling on her background profile.

I bit my lip and sighed. "I just exist for death, I can kill but rarely do, it's very difficult to explain but I know how everyone will leave this existence except for you, I only know when you won't perish because you're my soulmate," I mumbled softly. He eyed me questionably and glanced out the window, avoiding my eyes. He exhaled harshly and leaned back against the seat. "Alright Sebastian, you're Death and my soulmate. Does that make me Life," he asked curiously. I bit my lip and chuckled, it couldn't be that simple, I highly doubted that. I side eyed him and grinned.

"It's bullshit. Normal people don't want such stimulation, and they want stimulation. Going to the police station and the hospital can have the same effect." Elisa White said: "Our death education is too conservative. It was a necessary process to be born, old and sick, but everyone did not talk about it. When faced with death, it becomes a huge problem that cannot be faced. You should feel this more. In addition to the darkness of human nature, you are exposed to a large number of deaths. I, a surgeon, have less than one tenth of your death from contact. " "It makes me seem to have taken advantage of it." Britany Santos cleaned up the occasional emotional little emotion. "I tested Phoebe Cl