Death Of A Salesman の小説・ストーリー

Instinctively, I tried to catch them—but they passed straight through my palm and fell away. So… he could cry for me too. Once the dam broke, it could not be stopped. Joel held my cold corpse tightly in his arms and broke down completely in the morgue, sobbing uncontrollably. It was only when his assistant arrived, dragging the surgeon who had performed my operation, that the chaos shifted. Joel wiped his tears and suddenly struck the doctor hard across the face, grabbing him by the collar. "You said you were the best surgeon in the country! Why did Jocelyn die? You killed her—you'll pay with your life!"

Roman had been right about the old man second-guessing himself. A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. I wiped away the last of my tears with the back of my hand. Everything was still intact. Miles’s house, his cars, his position. And as far as the world was concerned, Arthur Wilson had died of a weak heart, exactly the way everyone had been predicting for days. I walked over to the small trash bin beside the bedside table, held the phone over it for a moment, and let it drop inside. It landed with a soft thud against the bottom. That was exactly where he belonged.

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.

“But I'm grateful. Elena was an important part of my life, and I will always respect the memories we shared.” Vivian's expression slowly softened. She understood what he was doing. One of the guests who knew me looked at Vivian. “I remember when Elena use to come for shopping. What actually happened to her?” The room became quiet again. Adrian's hand tightened slightly around Vivian's shoulder. “She died,” he answered. The words struck me harder than I expected. Not because I didn't know he believed I was dead. But because he said it so easily. “She died in an accident,” he continued. “It was a painful period for me. I eventually had to move forward.”

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

The news reached major media channels since the victims were wealthy and influential. The news broke down the Harrison's household and extended family, friends and business partners. Mr. Harrison was a philanthropist so every lives he had touched really cried for his demise. Mary lamented for their death as if they were her parents because they treated her like family when they were alive.

I know that magic is just an illusion, a trick. Dusting my clothes, I made my way toward my team. They had now assembled themselves in one place, their eyes still holding surprise, and I could guess that they were waiting for me to explain. The crowds were as silent as a graveyard. They weren't making any of their stupid noises, and I am sure they were still trying to recover from the shock of seeing me again. That made me remember a story in the Bible that our Sunday school teacher told us about. It was the story of a man named Lazarus who was resurrected from the dead. The only difference between us is that I have been dead for two months, or should I say suffering and wandering around an

When Sarah was led out of the study by Kelly, her face was already ashen white. She weakly entered the living room and caught a glimpse of Kimara staring at her scornfully from a distance. Mr. Dennis was standing by the window side and was seriously discussing something with a man in a black suit, his face looking very pale. It was no longer about the death of Mr. Wilson, the CEO of Wilson industry but majorly about the sudden death of all his long term dreams. Richard was someone he couldn't afford to lose no matter what.

He was wearing his grim reaper cloack and a formal attire underneath. Shane's ears burned bright red while staring at Mara's mismatched eyes. He secretly pinched himself. "Knock! Knock!" He said and Mara chuckled. "Who's there?" She said. She knows about this modern joke. Shane's face burned brighter. He didn't mean it as a joke. He flicked Mara's forehead and then leaned closer to her. "It's Death, on your doorstep," He said and then planted a kiss on her forehead. "It's Death, on your doorstep, who?" Mara asked.

"He died. I was at his funeral." Still, I want to believe he's right, crazy as it is. "And it was a closed casket, was it not?" Headmaster Stroud asks. "Yeah, because he was so... The car accident was so bad." The sound in my ears is rushing. My dad can't be out there in the world walking around. Right? Why would he fake his death? Why would he leave me? It doesn't make any sense. "Why would you say that?" I whisper. "Your father is a powerful man." His lips draw thin. "Very powerful."