Death Writing Novels & Stories

“Hm. So what are you doing here?” What was he supposed to say? “Are you dream walking?” She sounded intrigued. The nearly dead had a way of knowing things the living couldn’t even begin to understand. “In a manner of speaking. It’s more like … dream observing.” “Well,” she said, turning away to look at the group of mourners standing around her grave, “not much to observe here, is there?” He smiled. “You’re here.” “I’m boring.” “No, you’re not.” “I’m dying. Dying people are boring – we don’t have much to say.”

“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.”

She added but I didn’t say anything. “she right.” I heard a familiar voice say behind me, Death. “You too?” I ask. “Give me that little guy.” He said and cruch down to take War. “He is dying.” He said that made Peace and I looked at each other frowning then looked at him. “What?” I am confused. “Devren is dying, I found his body---” he said like it’s nothing that made my eyes wide. “F*ck.” I said and stood up and ran away towards my car.

"She couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. When I saw that... it scared me... I wanted to call a doctor, an ambulance, someone to help. She called me over, to-told me to sit down and listen carefully. She said she wanted me to promise her something before she goes..." Damien let out a sigh and wiped his tears. Ashleigh could feel tears building up in her eyes too. "She said I should promise to move on and continue being a good man... promise to live life to the fullest and not let anything stop me from doing so... be it sickness, be it poverty, be it loss, I should take it all as it comes. "I promised her I would then she... sh-she closed her eyes a-a-and that was it. She just... died...

There, right beside my husband Brandon in the photo, was my so-called best friend, Melissa. … Snapping out of it, I stared at Melissa's two-faced expression. She must have known about the lottery win by then. They had probably plotted the whole thing, faking his death to pocket the cash. "Noelle, don't take it so hard. You're already unwell. What if Brandon's death makes you worse?" I shrugged off Melissa's hand and asked with eerie calm, "Where's Brandon's body? I want to see him." Melissa blinked, thrown off by my composure. "In the ward," she stammered.

Of course, I was bundled up tightly. I asked him, "Am I dying soon, Kevin? The nurse told me I don't need to do chemotherapy anymore." Kevin held back his tears as he replied, "That's not it. You don't need to do chemotherapy anymore because you're recovering soon. Actually, there's another belief—that a person's soul doesn't truly die, but instead, it rests in the grave, along with their memories." I laughed. "You're really funny, Kevin. You're truly a perfect cemetery sales advisor with lines like that—even I was moved by such a romantic pitch."

“Ma’am, we can show you a photo first, so you can confirm whether it’s your daughter. It’s just… when we found her, she had been dead for three days, and the body had started to decompose. You should prepare yourself.” With that, he pulled out a photo from the scene and handed it to her. In the picture, a small, blood-soaked body—mine—was curled up on the bed in an unnatural position. My colorless lips and my sickly, bluish-purple skin told her one thing: I was dead. Mom’s eyes widened. At last, she could no longer lie to herself and burst into tears. “How could this happen? How could this be? She was fine just a few days ago. How could she be dead? Daisy, you cursed child, you’re just like

[Host has suffered catastrophic injustice: deprivation of dignity and theft of achievement. [Current unfairness count: 3/3.] [Judgment confirmed. Death program initiating.] [Brain-death countdown: 10 minutes.]

He paused his lips, “But that's too far, we just started the week.” I nodded, “Yes, but the tension is too much right now. Think about it – you die and your friend, like family, bakes a cake and makes a parfait to celebrate a weird union immediately after your death like you mean nothing. Would you feel wonderful about it? You’d be angrily dancing Cuban Rumba in your grave, which by the way would be a very small space. That's selfish if you ask me and disrespectful, you need to learn to respect the dead.” “You mean a lot to me…”

The machinery has arrived. “Dr. Smith, I am deeply wondering how humans perceive death. Could you share us some insights?” “Every human, are in a sense, dying from the minute we are born, and the sooner human recognize how fleeting our existence is, the less entangled we will become in superficial things that cause us grief. Death and its notion are completely meaningless. There isn't a single image that springs to mind. The living have a use for death's concept, but death has no use for anything. The only thing we can say about death is that it is either real or not. If it is true, then the end of one's life is a straightforward conclusion. If it isn't genuine, the end of one's embodied lif