Death Note Memes Novels & Stories

In the second year of our marriage, which Brett Mason had secured through relentless means, he brought home his latest conquest—a stunning blonde. As the door swung shut, he ran his fingers through her silky hair, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin. "Wanna join us? You might learn a thing or two about not being such a dead fish." I could still recall how he once adored my hair, claiming that just stroking it would melt away his deepest worries. It turned out any woman could serve that purpose. In that instant, a profound sense of release washed over me. I retrieved the divorce agreement I'd stashed away in a drawer and handed it to him. "Sign it, and I'll make room for her." My days were numbered, and I had no intention of wasting what little time remained entangled in his resentment.

The day my girlfriend’s condition worsened and she needed urgent surgery, I publicly called her a burden in front of everyone. Despite her pleas, I abandoned her cruelly. Seven years later, she became a formidable international tycoon and returned home with great fanfare. To exact her revenge on me, the heartless man, she poisoned my mother into silence and sent my father to prison. Eager to see me beg for mercy, she mobilized every connection to track me down. At this point, her parents could no longer bear to watch. With tears streaming down their faces, they revealed the entire truth. “He died seven years ago to donate his organs to you!”

I died on the day I was supposed to receive the Pack’s Distinguished Service Award. Three hours after I died, my parents, my brother, and my mate were just wrapping up the graduation party they’d thrown for my sister. While my sister, Ella, was posting a cozy family photo on Instagram, I was locked in our basement, using my tongue to swipe on my phone and call for help. The only person who answered was my mate, Ryan. All he said was, "Sophie, cut the drama. Ella's graduation party is important. Enough with the tantrums!" This was the ninety-ninth time they had let me down. And the last. I lay in a pool of my own blood, my lungs still. They thought I was just throwing a fit, hiding somewhere. That if they taught me a lesson, I’d come crawling back. But they didn't know. I was home the whole time. I was already dead.

My brother and I get into a car accident. My heart is ruptured—I need emergency surgery. But my mother, the hospital director, calls every available doctor… to my brother's room. He only has a few scrapes, yet she orders a full-body scan for him while I lie there bleeding out. I beg her to help me, but she snaps, visibly annoyed, "Can't you stop fighting for attention for once? Your brother almost injured a bone!" In the end, I die on the operating table. But after the news of my death breaks, my mother, who has always hated me, completely loses her mind.

I am diagnosed with severe systemic lupus erythematosus, and I only have three days left to live. When my husband rejects my 188th plea for help, I take my test results and enter the hospice care center. "Hello, I'd like to schedule my own cremation process and apply for government aid." Ten minutes later, they arrive. Before I can speak, my lawyer husband, Jasper Horton, coldly slaps me across the face. "You're faking a terminal illness just to steal attention from Janice?" My doctor brother, Casey Carter, snatches the medical report from my hand and scoffs at it. "Lupus? If you're going to fake being sick, at least make it believable. Only one in a million people gets this." I endure the pain in my body, return to the counter, and hand in the application form and my medical records once more. The staff member sees the butterfly-shaped rash on my wrist and sympathizes with me. "I have no family left," I say. "I'm requesting cremation in three days, location doesn't matter. I just don't want my death to burden anyone."

I have been dead for seven years. For seven years, a rare plague had ravaged the Silver Moon Kingdom. The new Luna, Lilith, wasn't immune either. She coughed up blood daily, her old wounds weeping anew with every full moon. Even in death, to the wolf packs, I was still the jinx. The false Luna who had beguiled the Alpha King. The cursed one destined to bring ruin to the kingdom. The entire kingdom begged Alpha King Kaelan to banish my vengeful spirit. My former mate was in the royal palace, softly consoling his current Luna, my sister. "Lilith, don't be afraid. If she insists on tormenting you with her curse even after death, then I will tear her inner wolf to shreds. You'll never be threatened by her again." But when they set foot in the Rogue Lands where I had been exiled, they found no wandering spirit of mine. Before them knelt the corpses of dozens of she-wolves, arranged neatly before my crude grave. They had all been exiled as "sinners", yet now, in death, they offered their final act of devotion. There was no trace of any spirit. There was only a small girl, about six years old, sitting beside the tombstone and clutching a photograph of me from when I was alive. Her ice-blue eyes were a perfect reflection of Kaelan's. "You're too late," she said. "Her inner wolf returned to the Moon Goddess long ago." "I've only been waiting here to get justice for my mother."

Silver burned. Holy light seared. I screamed my brother’s name, Theron, into the communication crystal. My consciousness was fading. His cold voice finally crackled through. "What now?" I fought through the pain, my voice weak. "Theron, please… help me…" He cut me off, his voice a razor's edge. "Enough! Lilith is hosting the Blood Moon Festival. Stop causing trouble. If you’re tormenting her out of jealousy again, I’ll throw you in the sun cells myself." The line went dead. Lilith. Our manipulative little adoptive sister. Was she really more important to him than his own blood? The silver poison and searing light consumed me. I shattered. My tears turned to ash, my body right behind them. Congratulations, Theron. You're free of your annoying sister. You don't have to lock me up anymore. Because I'm already dead.

Alice Long and I were caught in the crossfire. When my boyfriend—a combat medic responsible for saving the wounded—came to our rescue, he pushed me aside. Gently cradling Alice, the girl I had shielded, he shot me a cold glance and said, "Crystal, I'm deeply disappointed in you. She needs immediate care to avoid infection!" What about me? Was I meant to die instead? When my flag-draped coffin arrived home, he had the nerve to weep openly at my memorial. This once-renowned combat medic, celebrated around the globe, never set foot outside his room again.

On the day the SAT scores are released, the reporters track me down, the top scorer of the entire nation, in order to get an interview with me. That's when they find me fishing for a corpse by the river. When the reporters ask me who I'm thankful to the most, my mom, who's allegedly been dead for ten years, makes an appearance. She gets out of the Maybach, looking very high and mighty. "Your dad didn't remarry for ten years, and you've become the top scorer of the nation. As expected, both of you have passed my test." I can only grip my pole while staring at her in confusion. It turns out that ten years ago, Mom's adopted younger brother, Donald Ferguson, suggested to her, "Why don't you fake your death and test your husband's mettle? You should pretend to go bankrupt and jump off a building. If he can stay single for your sake for the next ten years, that should prove that he didn't marry you just for your money." Mom had laughed back then. "When we were still dating, I pretended to be poor for three years. Walter could take five jobs just to put food on the table for me. It's so evident that he loves me to the moon and back. Ten years isn't a problem; heck, he'll definitely remain unmarried for 20 years, or even for the rest of his life!" The fact that I, the top scorer of the nation, am actually the wealthiest woman, Eloise Ferguson's son, gives a huge boost to the shares of her company. The entire nation looks forward to seeing Mom and me hugging each other while bawling at the top of our lungs. Mom looks around her surroundings. "Where's Walter? I'm here to take both of you home with me." "He's dead." The pole in my hands slowly cracks into splinters as I look up at Mom and spit out the answer word by word. "Three years ago, Dad kept working his ass off day and night just to buy the best burial plot for you. That was when he died in this very river."

I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died. The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary. The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place. He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name. I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand. Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study. This time, I said nothing. It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything." He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called. I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged. That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines. He never even knew I had carried a child. Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands. But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.