Manner Of Death Novels & Stories

Blood splattered on the floor, the young man's body fell to the ground with a sad look at the beautiful woman beside him. Shot death by a mysterious person wearing a mask. The woman looked shocked, her body collapsed limply crying loudly while holding back the flow of blood that continued to flow in the young man's body. Unable to say anything, the young man could only smile at her, his eyes slowly closing.

*** ~~Amara~~ *** How can you kill someone in the most torturous and painful way possible? Gut him with a knife? No, too easy. Throw him in a pot of boiling oil?Hmm, fair enough. Break his kneecaps, toss him to some wild beasts and watch in relish as they shread and scrap his bones to pieces? Well, Maybe. "There are one thousand ways to die, Lan," I groaned, anger brewing inside me as I stared at him with churning rage, "But you choose one."

’ He shook his head. ‘You sure about that?’ Why was he always so convinced of things he didn’t know? ‘We won’t know if she’s dead, Genius.’ He had me there. Dying in the heat is a horrible death. It has historically been used as a method of torture or execution for she-wolves.

And now, she was trapped in a web of uncertainty, unsure of how to move forward. In the condominium, the minions were reporting to their boss as he arranged his briefcase. “Marcus’s death should be announced in the news tomorrow morning, and the official report is suicide. We made sure of that. And it wasn’t by hanging, he slit his wrist, so the cause of death is excessive bleeding”.

“Hold on. You don’t really mean that, do you?” “I mean it,” I said, keeping my tone as casual as possible while examining the dress’s delicate lace. “She died from an intense paper cut. So I heard. It was really pitiful. Tragic, even.” “No way!” She covered her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief and barely contained laughter. “That’s so… random. I’ve never heard of anyone dying from that. I swear rich folks are wired differently.” “There’s always a first time for everything,” I replied with a shrug, fighting my own smile.

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.

The finger scars on his neck down to his bodies without saying told them what had killed him Aside from the finger scars his neck when touched had broken,a pointer to the fact that they had forced him to death by either strangulating him or hitting him with something hard "Is he died? She asked on seeing the helplessness on the doctor's face "Yes he was either strangled or hit with a hard object as the broken neck was shown, The Finger marks was left by the murderers on the process of his struggling with them, he died about ten minutes back" The Doctor's explained to the puzzled looking couple

he said with mock thoughtfulness, “there are so many ways to kill you. Poison. Drowning. A nice clean bullet to the head. But none of them feel… intimate enough.” He stopped in front of her. His eyes gleamed behind the mask. “Do you have any preference on how you’d like to die?” She said nothing. She couldn’t give him anything—especially not fear. Fear fed men like him. "Any preference?" Then perhaps I’ll cut your throat. It is satisfying to watch the light die in the eyes of a person. The moment is as if a candle is shaking one last time before the light expires. He drew a knife. Silver in color.

I ask as nicely as I can but clearly he can tell I am taken off guard. He takes a deep breath, smelling the air around us. He pauses and his eyes pop open like he senses something or notices something shocking, but then says, “There’s no easy way to say this son, so I’m just going to cut to the point. Your father is dead. He was murdered last night, presumably in his sleep. His throat was slit. I don’t think he woke up, considering how much he drank last night. I think he died as peacefully as one can under the circumstances.”

There are deaths that scream. The ones you hear about. The ones people write down. The ones that make sense to witnesses because they announce themselves with drama, with noise, with the sort of finality that allows the living to build a story around the ending. Thomas Reed does not die like that. He dies the way a candle goes out when the room has been too drafty for too long. There is a flicker. A stubborn attempt to remain. Then the flame simply… isn’t.