Desperation In Death Novels & Stories

"The bullet in this gun is poisoned too, dipped into a plate of poison. The poison would eat your brains first. And as for my heart?...well,every side of it is filled with darkness, and floating round that darkness is a desire,a burning dark desire" I closed my eyes accepting everything. I was ready to die, giving up everything. No need struggling, help was not getting closer. He leaned even closer and touched my chin,his touch felt scaly and cold, like a touch of a lizard,I shivered. "I'm glad you're accepting your fate. Die with hatred",he whispered close to my neck,my eyes were still tightened shut. He cocked his gun and pointed the pistol directly to my forehead, ready to fire. That was

The lonely, yet stunningly beautiful death or simply Sebastian, ran his fingers through his long thick black hair. Bright citrine eyes surrounded by rich black lashes glance across the bare landscape. The year 1245 a.d. Sebastian once again is late to save his soulmate. He always finds them, male or female, moments after their death. He rubbed his eyes and kneeled down next to the young woman that had been crushed to death by a stampede of buffaloes. He gritted his teeth and cursed the fates.

I can feel my sight darkening as I grasp for air, trying hard to breathe properly. Kio is now walking closer, and the closer he walks, the tighter the guy’s choke is, the more I feel like passing out. Before my vision went completely black, I hear him say, “Let go. She’s mine.”

With all his strength, he continued to strangle her with her head resting on his chest while she coughed vehemently with her eyes as red as blood and her hair scattered all over her face. “Dotun! Let go of her!” Daren screamed while grabbing hold of his hand. “Send in the police immediately!” Elsa ordered. At the sound of his mother’s voice, he let go of her and then her body slid down his arms slowly and landed on the floor. He began to pant heavily while kneeling beside her body which was lying before him on the floor and all he could hear were screams from everyone in the room. “She’s dead, she’s dead,” he could hear his father’s voice in the background and a smile of relief appeared on h

He closed the door gently, too gently, and I watched him from the arch of the doorway, unseen. For a man who could die in a dozen ways over the next week, he was oddly reckless. Or perhaps the recklessness belonged to something else: desperation. That is a different animal entirely. Desperation will make a practiced liar turn saint and a saint turn traitor. It will press your face to the glass until you cannot see your reflection anymore. I stepped forward, slow, and let my presence make the air heavier. He smelled of antiseptic and the slow iron of dried blood, and when he turned and saw me, his face shuttered in a way that could have been careful or guilty or both.

But the feeling in my chest won’t leave me alone. I finally understand what it is. The ache that never fades. The fear sitting deep in my bones whenever I imagine trying to reach for him and him letting me go. Desperation. I’m desperate. Hopelessly, completely desperate, and I don’t know what to do with it. The feeling isn’t new. I’ve known it for most of my life. Desperation to survive when I realised my mother was gone and that man in the leather jacket would come for me next. Desperation to be loved by Victor and Elara, even while they slowly broke my heart. Desperation to protect my daughter, to find her, to know she was safe.

Making my way home. Outside, it was freezing. To avoid the cold, I took a shortcut. At the final intersection, a figure suddenly appeared and seized my neck. I couldn't breathe, and the pain from the strangulation immediately surged. The System quickly went to work, completely cutting off my sense of pain. "You accursed brat! If it wasn't because of you, I wouldn't have gone to prison for two years! Die!" roared a man, who was holding something short. He raised it and immediately stabbed it in my chest.

She has not mentioned the cold or the blood on her hands or the fact that she watched three men die on the gravel an hour ago and did not flinch. "Serafina." She looks up at me. Her eyes are sharp and steady, and I see in them the same thing I saw when she read the authorization code aloud in the courtyard. Not fear. Not anger. The particular clarity of a woman who has decided what the next sentence of her life will say and is waiting for the world to catch up.

Arthur bent down and tried to console her, she wrapped her hands around his neck and was crying hysterically. Looking at the dead body, tears rolled down my cheek. The condition of the body was terrible and the smell of it was making it impossible to go near him. I wonder how she lived here with his body lying in front of her eyes. “Mr. Spencer… we need to take the body now,” One of the cops walked towards Arthur,

The blood had nearly stopped flowing. The position of his right hand was strange; his fingers curled as if trying to grasp something. I crouched down. In his open left hand, written crookedly in blood, was a single word: "Run". 02:14. One minute left. 02:15 came. Nothing happened. I was still alive. "Substitute death successful. Eric Dawson was killed at 2:14 in Parking Lot C. Remaining loop time: 48 hours. "Go to Parking Lot C. There’s something for you."