Death Of An Outsider Novels & Stories

His eyes stayed clear, brown, pools of looking outwards for seconds only before closing, and the last thing that life offered by way of its goodbye was the sound of the increasing rain, as it landed on his head and that now, sodden, leather jacket. When the old woman came out again clutching her little plastic bag of medicine, she turned to glance at Sèdonoudè, and this time she saw that something was not right with his world. She hurried back inside and came out again with a young, white coated pharmacy girl, who peered at him with curiously enlarged blue eyes through bottle top lenses. ‘Monsieur? Monsieur!’ she said, then placed a hand on his shoulder to gently shake him. ‘Il est mort!’ sa

Enough to make my breath hitch in my throat as the city below continues its relentless motion, oblivious to the battle waging within me. I should jump. I should end it. But why do I still cling to the edge? A gust of wind rushes past, lifting the ends of my hair, making me shiver. The night feels endless, like a vast, empty void mirroring the hollowness inside me. My fingers tremble against the cold steel. I close my eyes, listening to the faint hum of the city, the distant murmur of lives I am not a part of. I am an outsider, unseen, forgotten. Just one step, and I’ll be nothing more than a passing headline—a nameless tragedy.

“The day you came for me, Atlas's jaw and hands were covered in blood, even smudged on his teeth. So, I figured you may be the same since you were together.” She had given me a long look that day. I noticed a flicker of sadness appearing in her blue eyes, but they were gone as soon as they appeared. And then, she finally replied. “My case is special. So, what I am is special also.” I had laughed. And later, I thought to myself, 'what could be special about her?' She did call herself an “Outsider,” but even after that, I still failed to understand her. But now, I do understand her. She was indeed an outsider, and she felt like one, even acted like one. She died differently than the others. An

He was about to hurl more insults when Francesca suddenly shrieked, "Oh no! My precious Pico seems to be coughing!" Papa's and Mamma's expressions instantly changed, panic flaring. "Quick! Call the doctor immediately!" They hurriedly brushed past me. The heavy wooden door slammed shut in my face with a bang. I stood quietly in place for two seconds, then turned around and went back to my cold and gloomy room. I stuffed the few clothes I had into my bag. It was well below freezing outside. Bracing against the biting wind, I dragged my peeling suitcase and walked resolutely into the depths of winter without looking back.

The fireworks exploded in the distance, one after another, shattering into a sky of gold and red. This year, I had learned one thing: to put myself first. In the end, I had finally become my own. I glanced at the photo one last time before the screen went dark. That chair had been empty for too long. I could never go back to it. I raised my hand and deleted the message, then drew the curtains and poured myself a glass of wine. A new year was coming. And this time, I, Aurora Moretti, belonged to no one but myself.

Cause of Death: Severe traumatic brain injury with multiple organ rupture and hemorrhage caused by a car accident. "External Characteristics: The deceased was run over and dragged by a heavy vehicle, and his facial features are completely disfigured and unrecognizable. The left ribcage collapsed, with multiple rib fractures and severed ribs piercing the lungs and heart. Both lower limbs suffered comminuted fractures, with exposed rib ends and avulsed skin…" I floated mid-air, reading the report and suddenly feeling the excruciating pain of that night that seemed to resurface deep within my soul. The day I died was precisely a week after Sally's death.

Her fingers hammered against the phone, the sharp tapping echoing her irritation. [Say something. Don't act like you're dead.] [If you don't want it, then return it.] Those cold, cutting words dragged me back to that bone-chilling night in the snow. I wanted to tell her that I was already dead—that I had frozen to death in the cheap down jacket she bought me. Winter in the north is brutally cold. So cold that, after failing to secure a hospital bed, I merely closed my eyes for a moment—and never opened them again.

“I have bad news. First, our financial department just confirmed that we’d be forced to file for bankruptcy if nothing is done within forty-eight hours.” I sigh in defeat. I had left my father’s house in anger ten years ago and worked tirelessly to build a new life. I started a winery which had grown into a billion-dollar company until a few months ago when my company was accused of a food poisoning scandal. “The investors all want to pull out so we have no choice.” “But?” I ask. The broken glass in my hands pricks my finger and a drop of blood falls to the ground. “Your father is dead,” Theodore mumbles.

she whispered to me with her purple lips wriggling and then fell straight into the heap of muddy snow right in front of me. Standing there, I could clearly sense her vitality was fading away. She would be dead within half an hour unless she could get proper medical help immediately. Yet, I just stood there, beside her, watching, not even hesitating. I was watching and waiting, for her death, I guess. Because I was too bored that night and because I always do nothing. I was the outsider of the world and had always been. I wanted nothing to do with anyone in it, humans or not humans.

Alex immediately gave a call to Zachary and told him that the two men who had died downtown in Alaska before were worshippers of the Blood Cult. “What?!” Zachary was obviously surprised, and then he said, “Oh god, why didn’t you say so earlier? Those two bodies have already been cremated!” “Wasn’t there one still alive? The one in gray clothes,” Alex said. He was referring to the Gold and Silver Ghost’s helper, who he had kicked. Back then, the helper hadn’t died yet. However, Zachary said, “That guy is also dead.” Alex found it to be strange. “Impossible, I only kicked him. At most, he’d have suffered some internal injuries, but not so serious to the point that he would die.”