Death By Dad Farts Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Keep it down lazy asshole, am on an important call'. My Dad was dying but Mom was on a call with one of her lovers in the kitchen, she didn't care to check up on him and my Dad died of an asthma attack. I came home that night, happy that we did well on our first debut, I wanted to tell Dad how everyone said our music was awesome but instead, I met his dead body in the sitting room. I watched everything that happened on the CCTV and I was devastated, if only Mom had come to check up on him when she heard him struggling, if only she had just given him his inhaler and left, my Dad would have still been alive but she didn't and I lost the only parent that ever cared about me. I left home that d

“Well, you can only blame your bad luck!” “Dad, it seems your luck isn’t that great either. You’ll be leaving before me.” My dad froze, his face turned pale, and cold sweat formed on his forehead. He clutched his stomach tightly, his face twisting in pain. He screamed, “You bitch! What did you give me?” I smiled softly. “It’s just a pesticide. I heard it doesn’t kill immediately but rots the insides slowly, making one wish for death. How does it feel, Dad?”

I stare at Dad’s face, taking in all the lines and scars. All my life, he’s looked like this. Old. Tired. Stressed from all the lies, he's been telling all his life. Bubbles form around his mouth, some floating into the air. Suddenly, he begins to convulse, and his eyes roll back into his head. Staring at the white of his eyeballs is freaky as fuck, and I pinch my eyes shut. When I open them again, dad is gone. Instead, Paula is lying beside me.

My dad was the definition of the word boring, but somehow when it came to stuff like this he became this automatic cool guy who had very strange death requests and superstitions. “He’s so weird, isn’t he?” I grinned, turning to Dante. Was. I was supposed to say was but I said is. “Yes, he is,” Dante said and I felt relief. He had said is too. “Yes, he is,” my mom whispered as tears caught in her throat. “Okay, well next to other stuff. He also wanted a funeral early in the afternoon so he could be done with it,” she grinned.

My parents listened to those desperate calls with nothing but irritation, dismissing each one as theatrics, an inconvenience unworthy of their time. My brother snarled over the phone, “Then just die already!” So I did. In the end, it was my three-year-old daughter who made the final call—using her smartwatch to video my mother, live-streaming the freezer where my severed head lay. Now, my spirit watches from above as they all, one by one, begin to unravel. ... I knew I was finally going to die. So I called my family. My mom answered. She was in the middle of a face mask, her voice muffled and edged with impatience. “What is it now, Elena?”

I'll think of you and I'm sure you'll think of me. Yours truly, Julian When he's done I find my hand has somehow raised to my mouth as my eyes blink like broken butterfly wings trying to fly. And it feels like my heart has stopped beating in my chest. Like air isn't coming into my lungs. Like my self-control has been fractured. Because I'm hyperventilating, I'm shaking, and I'm seeing in twos and fours and sixes. Because that letter is a nightmare that is true. My dad dying wasn't an accident. Julian killed him. My dad was murdered. And now he has my mom and she went willingly so he didn't kill Thomas and me. And I didn't even know.

Others joined in, beating me as I lay defenseless. In my despair, I glanced at the girl's face on Florence's phone. Then it clicked why my children died after calling me Dad.

In the next moment, Dad suddenly let out a heart-wrenching wail, startling everyone. His legs gave way, and he knelt on the ground, covering his face as he wept uncontrollably. Everyone was stunned, frozen in place. Only that demon wore a sly smile at the corner of his lips. Unfortunately, no one noticed him. Mom grabbed Dad's collar, trying to pull him up. "Luke, what’s wrong? Don’t scare us like this." After what felt like an eternity, Dad finally raised his tear-filled eyes. He looked as if all his strength had been drained away, struggling to speak. "Lena... Lena’s dead!"

“Emma's just jealous of you.” Once they'd soothed her, they turned back to deal with me. Darius's face went cold. “Emma, you still won't repent, even now. You're a carbon copy of that dead mother of yours.” I bit my lip and refused to back down. “Then Vivian's just like her dead mother too!” Orion's palm cracked across my face. “If your mother could see what you've become, how cold her heart would be.” It didn't hurt.

“What happened with your dad is not your fault. It was unfortunate that he passed away so soon, but he loved you a lot. Stop blaming yourself for that old man’s irresponsible eating habits.” “I still feel responsible.” “Hah! Do you know your dad loved eating those crispy fast-food chicken wings? And that’s what did him in. I told him to watch what he ate, but he always told me he would live forever.” “I never knew that.” “The last time he went to the doctor’s, his cholesterol and blood pressure were through the roof. It was his fault he died.” “Mom, it’s ill to speak of Dad that way.” “What do you think he’ll do, haunt me? I’m getting there, anyway. I will smack him in the head when I see hi