Dying Wishes Novels & Stories

Hazel said aloud, as she knelt down in tears. "I can't believe Rita died without my final blessings. She was my best maids amongst all, I wanted her to live the best life she never had growing up. I wish I never let her leave my sight. She never deserve what she went through, she was an orphan, who needed love and support, I feel so sad for her death, and for the death of her unborn child." Hazel's father said calmly.

She was completely out of her mind. Wade got arrested, and the cops used him to reel in a bunch of other crooks running an underground black market. When I heard what happened to Yvonne, I downed a glass of wine and could not help but feel a wave of emotion. Life was a series of choices, and we had to live with the ones we made. After that, life settled into a calm routine, but it was a good kind of calm. Our hospital got its hands on some cutting-edge international technology that was just right for my old injury. I volunteered to be the guinea pig, to give back to the hospital.

In the police station, Mom and Dad still refused to believe that I was dead. "That's impossible! We left breathing holes for him. He must have conspired with you to put on this show. Tell me, how much did he pay you? I'll pay you double!" Dad roared. "Look at this!" The police officer slapped a DNA report down on the desk. Dad took the document and skimmed it quickly. His expression darkened. "It was really John?" After reading the document, Mom was stunned. "That can't be! He can't be dead. That body wasn't his! The fortune teller told us that he would survive a few days!"

Woods said a quick, silent prayer, hoping that the big southern girl didn’t freeze her ass off on her way up to the Pearly Gates. Thirty simple seconds tick-tocked on by, and despite the electric crackle of expectancy in the air, Mama Metcalf remained well and truly dead. Even her blood had stopped flowing, ruby diamonds on a cigarette-butt strewn patch of land. The old woman across from her, Wanda Mabry, would also never move again. Her index finger was curved inwards as though still depressing an invisible trigger that shot invisible bullets of hatred at a sky that would never die. Sirens sung in the distance. When the hospice alarm was activated an automatic call out was prompted to the f

Even so, the woman could still survive without fainting. “Letting you go? You here to replace the death of that woman.” The woman’s eyes widened and then turned to Kanya. Her gaze was filled with hatred because of Kanya. She had to die. How could she believe that? Should she die for someone she didn’t know? “Miss, I don’t want to die. So please spare me,” She shouted, and the hateful look still didn’t fade. “Don’t kill her!” Kanya’s body trembled. She didn’t want to see other people die because of her. “Let her go! You can kill me.”

He simply repeated in that same flat tone: “Welcome to the SSS-level dungeon: ‘Wish.’ Please choose your cause of death.” Just when everyone was at a total loss, glowing text suddenly scrolled across the air like a livestream chat. [Damn, these players are seriously unlucky. “Wish” has a zero percent clear rate—hardest dungeon ever recorded.] [The boss grants each player’s wish... but always in the most horrifying, twisted way possible.] [As soon as players enter, they face the final boss. It forces everyone to “wish” for the way they’ll die, then “mercifully” makes that wish come true.]

"He's not dead, Lydia. Ophelia's dead. Nyric is very much alive, and it was her wish, not some scheme he cooked up." "That makes it *worse*, not better." "How does that make it worse?" Lydia leaned forward, her expression somewhere between fury and fear, the kind only family can layer together so completely. "Because a dying woman's wish is not the same as a good idea, Mica. People say all sorts of things when they're scared and dying and desperate to leave something behind. That doesn't mean the people who loved her are obligated to burn their own lives down fulfilling every last one of them."

Even though Arnold can't beat me. 'Arnold? So, you—' The woman laughed. The woman's eyes bulged, looking pleased with the change in Raymond's expression. 'Precisely. I killed him. Do you know what his last wish was?' 'I don't want to hear,' Raymond approached the woman, preparing to fire the bullet back at the woman. 'Don't touch Raymond Cooper,' the woman laughed again. 'But you innocently took your own death! I feel sorry for Arnold. His struggle was in vain—'

“I want to run a blood panel and a few genetic markers before I give you an answer. I need to be sure.” “Sure of what?” I asked. I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “If it is not cancer, then what the hell is killing me?” “Let me run the tests,” Lucas insisted. He pushed my shoulders back down against the padding. “You need to rest. The medication will make you drowsy. Close your eyes and let your body recover from the stress.” I wanted to argue, but the drugs in my IV line were already pulling me under. My eyelids felt like lead.

My coworker, Tyra Robb, stood beside my desk with one hand on her belly, her voice low. "Stella, there are some boxes in storage. Come help me move them." Last time, I gave in and went with her. Half an hour later, she collapsed in the fire stairwell, blood all over the floor. When she woke up, she pointed at me through tears. "Stella made me move those boxes. She even pushed me." I got fired, sued, and lost everything. My dad died. My mom lost her mind. And I ended up on the roof of the office building. Only after I died did I learn she'd been stringing along eight guys at once. Given Tyra's history of multiple miscarriages, the baby never stood a chance anyway. This time, I didn't