Dying Stories Novels & Stories

“They’re just the ones standing closest to the smoke.” “I know that too,” she said. “It doesn’t make it less infuriating when they act like my mother’s death was some glorious exchange rate.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Nightfang has our own version,” he said. “Stories about how we were strong when fear ruled, about how sacrifice kept the borders hard. They forget the bodies in the snow.” Rin looked at him. “Do they tell stories about you?” she asked. “The same way they do about me?”

The plaster, which she thought was solid, cracked under her sharp heels, leaving a gaping hole. Panicked, she lifted her foot and saw black liquid along with bits of flesh stuck to the heel. The cracks on the plaster began spreading. The foul-smelling fluid pooled underneath the statue. With a loud crash, the entire plaster statue fell apart. The corpse on the inside, now completely unrecognizable, was finally exposed. The smell of decomposed flesh filled the air at once. Many recoiled in horror when they saw the state of my body. "I hadn't meant to kill him," Jessica said, collapsing to the ground as she looked at Mom and Dad dazedly.

My stomach lurches. “O…kay?” Heather sits up. “You seem messed up. Come sit, and I’ll make tea.” I shake my head, following her instructions anyway. I can’t sit until I stop vibrating. “We had another best friend, Theresa, and—and she doesn’t matter to this story, so I’m going to focus. Cool. Thanks.” I pace behind the back of the couch. “Ryan died. Senior year. Car accident.” I can’t say anything more than that without my whole stomach pushing itself out through my mouth. Even that much burns like acid.

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

I don’t know how much time had passed. I was still holding Dad’s drained body in a pool of rose-colored water. My eyes were swollen from crying. Two figures appear in front of me. They were speaking, but words, sounds, nothing was coming through. One of them knelt in front of me. He took my face in both his hands. His lips were moving but it seems like I am listening to them from underwater. Maybe I died too. Drowned in my tears and joined Dad and Mom. Can you die from crying too much? Dehydrate yourself to the point of no return? I think that’s what happened to me.

“she could hear the screams and shouts, and she realized in horror what she had done. What they had all done.” I am rooted in my seat as I look at the woman in front of me narrating a story I know all too well it's hers. She is the girl. “they all died together, the five of them and the mates were left carrying their children. And in anguish. A story that no one knows what happened because they vowed to never talk of it.” I shudder as those eyes settle on me but I steel my gaze as I look at her. “it didn’t matter anyway, because one of the girls died in childbirth, the other killed herself right after childbirth, and the other went mad after a few years. And the other escaped, from her ghost

The smell of rotting flesh seem to seep out of the coffin. In the end, we had to have a closed burial for him. ++++++++++ Death offers us so many tnrills and chills. And in most cases, it's not even personal experiences that drive us a bit off the edge when we hear those stories. But again, I would like to remind you that some of these stories may or not be real, but it is the absolute truth for those who shared those tales. So once again, I bid you farewell from The Supernatural Spa, dear reader. This has been your Storyteller, The Diwata, saying goodnight and we hope to see you soon. Fare thee well...

The latter might be impossible because the hideous creatures completely take over the whole surface water right now. So much for a peaceful death. Goodbye world, thank you for everything. (I bet that guy who died will be disappointed at me when I meet him there.) ..... ..... ..... ... Like hell, this is my end! Dying from drowning!? A peaceful death!? Don't mock me, World! My legendary story doesn't end here! If chances of surviving down here are low as long it isn't zero I'll survive! No, even if it's zero no, I'll struggle to the bitter end!

Carl pulled her into his arms and said, "Don't cry, Pheebs. Everyone has their own destiny." What bullshit! I didn't believe in that rubbish, yet my fate had played such a huge prank on me. It had turned me into such a harbinger of misfortune. I saw the slight smile on Carl's face. He seemed to be pleased that I was dead. He and the rest of them surrounded my body. Silence descended upon them as they looked at my photo and urn. Gary said grimly, "Holly called me this afternoon and told me she was going to die. She wanted us to have one last meal with her."

Now, the memory felt like the cruelest joke imaginable. After leaving the bathroom, I picked up my phone and searched for a professional disappearance service. Then, I dialed the number. “I’d like to purchase your highest-level death simulation package. The date will be… seven days from now.” It would be the day of our wedding. Before I could finish speaking, a surprised voice sounded behind me. “Clara, who are you talking to at this hour of the night?" My heart leaped out of my chest, and I immediately hung up.