Dying Stories Novels & Stories

I took a deep breath and tried typing the words. Just type anything Kath, don't stop. Yes just type, ignore the errors, just write. Just let the words out. Then I stopped when I suddenly felt my hand got tired. I checked the word count and it was already four hundred and fifty. Atleast. “Tim, are you still alive there?” I asked but my focus is still on the screen with my hands busy hitting the keys. “ He died.” “Who?” I replied. “ I wonder why authors love killing their characters.”

Overwhelming despair instantly washed over Alessio. He kept denying the truth because he couldn't accept the fact that he had personally caused my death. He whipped his head up, staring intently at the director in front of him as he said in a trembling voice, "Impossible! It can't be! The doctor said she was just malnourished, and she'll be fine if she gets plenty of rest!" Seeing Alessio fall apart, the director said hesitantly, "I'm not sure about the details. It's possible that the doctors were in too much of a rush back then and missed her actual condition."

Death Dying, is a serious business. There is no room for laughter. Only horrible panic, as all you have in the world finally slips away. There was no room for Lala. She hid herself. In the way an alcoholic, a sex addict, a person suffering from a mental illness, might hide behind the walls of denial until the illness refuses to let itself be ignored, she hid from Teddy’s dying, guiltily and ashamed, because she could not begin to accept the finiteness of mortality.

Over the three days I'd been in the ICU, Blaire had sent me dozens of messages. Blaire: [Jim, please, just five thousand dollars. You can't let Dustin, who's dying of a terminal illness, get kicked out of the hospital and left to die, can you?] Blaire: [I admit I said a lot of cruel things on the phone last time. If you're willing to lend Dustin the money, I'll apologize.] When I didn't respond, her tone turned vicious. Blaire: [Jim, remember what you said when you got down on one knee? That you'd treat me well for life and never let me suffer? What a joke. Your word is worthless. I regret marrying you more every day.]

How sweet it would be right now to feel nothing. This didn’t happen, though. There was no clemency. She was, and always would be, anchored to this delusional planet. To this hurt. Somebody up there, please help us. We’re dying down here. Can’t you see that? Our land is honeycombed with tombs, and it’ll crumble under our feet one day. Soon. I’ll build a bridge from me to you out of corpses. Just promise me you’ll be there when I arrive. You need to pinkie-swear I won’t be alone.

They were a passing thing. Yanta looked at the notices that were hanged on the notice board. The notices read: “Darrish Drinkwell, our greatest storyteller, is returning to scene with a second tome of his Tales Untold. The Hartin and Dartin Company are planning to publish a legend book. We will ask Drinkwell to write one more, if he accepts, well, you know the rest. Plan in advance, good folk; this is an opportunity unlike any other. You won’t cheaper copies that ours.

And far away, somewhere beyond the noise, a phone that had been forcefully hung up was about to ring again. White-hot pain tore through me. Blood flooded my mouth, metallic and choking. My body convulsed violently as oxygen vanished entirely. The world began to fade— sounds stretching, faces blurring, everything pulling away from me. Just as darkness was about to swallow me whole— A voice cut through the chaos like a gunshot. “Lay one more hand on my daughter,” she said slowly, “and none of you will ever leave this ship alive.”

Inside the casket, I couldn't tell night from day. Hunger eventually stripped away what was left of my sanity. I bit at the wood and clawed at the lid over and over, desperate to tear my way out, until every single one of my fingernails ripped completely off my fingers. The already thinning oxygen grew heavy with a suffocating, putrid stench as my own waste started piling. I didn't know how many days had passed when I finally died in agony.

~~~ R-O-M-12:12—12|13|14|15 - hope II-C-O-R-4:10—31|32|33|34|35 - dying J-O-H-N-3:16—17|18|19|20|21 - world 4_2_3_5_5 H O P E _ _ _ _ _ D Y I N G W O R L D 4 2 3 5 5 ~~~ “Hope on the Dying World?” - Xol “Hope in the Dying World?” - Czaquira “Hope of the Dying World.” Timotheus uttered.

Through my treatments and hospital stays and the times I pushed you away because I was scared of exactly this moment, of leaving you behind. The hardest part of dying isn't the dying itself. It's the leaving. Leaving May, who sacrificed everything for me. Leaving Midnight, who somehow always knew when my lungs were bad and would purr against my chest like he was helping me breathe. And leaving you, my beautiful, brilliant, stubborn Shade, who never saw yourself the way I saw you. So let me tell you what I see: I see a boy who taught himself engineering from library books because his father never bothered to show him how things work.