Destined To Die Young Novels & Stories

After a moment, James continued, “Jasmine, your mom was born just before I turned twenty. I had moved out and was going to college. They spoiled Jasmine rotten because of her being the youngest. She always got her way, no matter what. When Jasmine was ten years old, your grandparents passed away from carbon monoxide poisoning. Thankfully, Jasmine was at Janice’s house that weekend. Otherwise, we would have lost her too.” I let the words sink in, sad that I won’t meet my grandparents. It seems we have the loss of our parents in common. “So my grandparents are no longer living? That’s so sad. I’m sorry that you all had your parents taken away so young. Suppose I can relate, since I became an o

Talking to the wrong person or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Cancer.” Killian set the frame down on the shelf. “He had it off and on since childhood.” The ache in his voice was evident as he took one more look at the picture before meeting my eyes. “He was nineteen when he died. It was abrupt. Honestly, it was our first real taste of mortality. Tommaso and I figured we’d all live forever, the three of us running this city together one day.” He smiled soberly and absently ran his knuckles down my arm. “If anything, it was a stark reminder that the realities of the outside world still have sway in the underworld.”

Why not another person? I’ve always wanted to find my roots. This discovery has brought me closer to them, but it came at a price: the knowledge that I’m going to die no matter what. Yes, everyone dies but I didn't expect that I would die at such a young age. I didn't expect to have a short life. I have only this year left.

He rubbed at his temple, wincing as the dull throb at the base of his skull returned—stronger this time. He hated that pain. It was the only thing lately that reminded him he was still alive. Nathan stood, moving toward the window. The city glittered below—bright, noisy, full of life he couldn’t feel. Neon lights painted his reflection across the glass: tousled hair, tired eyes, perfection sculpted by fame but filled by exhaustion. He tapped his cigarette against the railing, watching the ashes scatter like snow. “Another night,” he murmured, “another stranger.” His phone buzzed on the table. A message from his manager:

Boss era is bad) I glared at him silently but he looked unfazed by my glare as he said " Mujhe Apni katilana nazro Se baat mei Maar Lena... Abhi plz lite the lamp " he said as I diverted my eyes from his and lite the matchstick and continued to lite the lamp. ( kill me later with your killer eyes... Right now plz lite the lamp) Looking at the flame made me think of the past when everything was fine...when I was fine, maybe... Just maybe if that all didn't happen then maybe I would have been like a normal teenage girl... Like other girls are.

There is something I want to ask about the woman earlier. "Karmic death? What is that? Her cause of death should be Accidental Death but why karmic? I don't understand." I was just stunned this time because I was overwhelmed by the feeling of what I had seen a while ago. At her young age, she was able to do ugly things. She's only 19 but she did those things apart still she is a woman.

“You deserve to die alone… destined to lose everything…” Perhaps she was right.

Only one. Death Death is painful yet straightforward. By beheading, or a Darkling consumes them from within their soulless bodies. Once complete, they will turn to the ash from their birthright grounds. “How strange, yet sad,” I think while strumming my finger across the edge of the page. I sit and wonder how those women caused so much destruction and how so many loved them. The reality hits me like a ton of bricks. “... Sam! I bet this had to do with him!” I say his name an octave too loud.

Death would be a mercy. But destiny has other plans.

Like, "Mike, if I die, I'm haunting you forever. I will move your keys every single day. You will never find matching socks again. Enjoy your cursed life." At first, I give up all hope. I mean, what am I supposed to do? I'm not a stunt driver. I'm not in a Marvel movie. I don't have superpowers. I'm just Treasure Steele, nineteen-year-old aspiring businesswoman who is about to become a very attractive pancake. This is not how I planned to go. My obituary is going to be so embarrassing. "Treasure Steele, died young, dreams unfulfilled, squashed between two trucks like a bug on a windshield. She will be remembered for her excellent taste in shoes and her inability to stay out of trouble."