Murder By Choice Novels & Stories

I've been incredibly angered since the events in Paris transpired. How could she? How could she terminate our unborn child? Did she ever truly love me? If she did, she wouldn't have made that choice, considering what we shared. It was deeply disheartening and agonizing to realize that I married someone capable of such an act. Some may argue it's not murder, as the baby wasn't fully formed, but I view it differently. Taking the life of your own child, even in the early stages, feels like a form of murder to me.

“I want to see my son! Alex, bring my son to me! I want to see my son Madam Choice’s voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Get out of here! If you’re not with Joseph, You murderer, Do you want to kill my mom too? Or better still you want to kill me? Eh? Tell me! Tell me Alex , speak!! She stepped closer to Alex, her hands trembling as she searched him, patting his pockets frantically. “Show me! , show me , Show me your weapon! Show me your gun! Where is it? Where is it?” Her fingers dug into his jacket, pulling at the fabric. “Show me! Show me your gun! Show me your weapon! I’m sure you’re here to kill my mom too! Show me your weapon!” Alex felt sick. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow

"Hope, you want me to tell you that what you did was purely heroic, or purely monstrous, so you can fit it into a neat category and move on. But that's not how this works." "Then how does it work?" She leans forward, her ancient eyes serious. "You chose in an impossible situation. A choice that will haunt you for the rest of your life, regardless of whether it was right or wrong. That's the burden of power—sometimes there are no good options, only varying degrees of terrible ones. And someone has to choose anyway." "So I should just accept that I'm a killer now?" "You should accept that you're someone who made an unbearable choice for reasons you believed were right. Whether history judges t

Surely, that would help. Then that deep, dark and scary voice came back to me: Once again you are considering altering the path they have chosen. It would not be wise to do this. Why don’t you murder them? Yes, that would be a good idea, then they would not be able to do any damage, they would be gone. Yes, murder them! I froze. I didn’t reply. Murder them? Really? No, I couldn’t kill anyone. But the idea was planted into my mind from then on and I thought about it a lot more later on.

“Yes, you did. And you will have to come to terms with that. But, for me, it was the why that made the difference. The voices in my head, the ones that are still there, they quieted when I came to terms with ‘why’ I killed them. I didn’t have a choice. Do you believe that you had a choice, Zephyr?” “I did have a choice. I chose my son over every one of them, and I’d do it again if I had to.” “And do you think that if the roles were reversed, that they would have chosen you over their child?” she asks me. I start to answer, but then stop. No mother would choose a stranger’s life over their own child’s. “No. They would have chosen their child.” “And would you have blamed them for that choice?

"The same choice I gave her. The same choice your grandmother gave her. Pills or prison. Pills or the truth. Pills or watching you grow up knowing what she'd done." I stood up. The chair scraped against the concrete floor. The sound echoed off the gray walls. "You're all the same," I said. "Every single one of you. You tell yourselves you're giving people choices. That you're helping. That you're not murderers. But you are. You're all murderers." Viktor didn't deny it. "I'm going to die in here," he said. "Maybe of old age. Maybe of someone else's knife. Either way, I'm not getting out. I've made peace with that."

‘‘Goodbye mama, bye papa,’’ I whispered as I held the scalpel tightly in my hand and brought it slowly towards my neck. I had always been a psychopath, Vince knew it, it was what he had been trying to tell and prove to the whole of Maslow High School. I wanted to watch it all, the blood dripping from my neck, sliced flesh. Watch all of it slowly and enjoy my last entertainment. ME. Life is a series of choices; it is a series of choices that build up on each other like a stair case. It is the choices that make us, and every time, we are torn between options.

“He was a boy when I met him. Reckless. Brave. Stupid. Reminded me of myself.” “And then?” “Then I made choices. And he made different ones.” I stepped further into the room. “What kind of choices get people killed?” He didn’t flinch. “The kind that feel right at the time. The kind you think are for the greater good.” “And were they?” “No,” he said simply. “But by the time I realized that, it was already done.” I swallowed hard. “My mother loved you.” His jaw clenched. Just barely. “I loved her too.”

"And I I carry that. Every day. Every moment. The weight of that choice. The guilt of of letting innocent people die for for power. For territory. For..." "For survival." I finished. "You keep saying that. Like it justifies anything." "It doesn't justify it. But it explains it. This world, our world, it doesn't reward morality. Doesn't reward mercy. It rewards pragmatism. Strategy. The willingness to ... to make hard choices." "Hard choices." I laughed. Bitter. "Is that what we're calling letting people die? Hard choices?" "What would you call it?" "Murder. Complicity. Betrayal." I moved away from him. "You can dress it up however you want. Call it strategy. Call it survival. But Dante..you

She could have easily gutted the hell out of him. "I think you know why." He did, and he was infuriated because it was working. Another decision that was done with an intention. To show him that she had a choice, and she did not choose to kill. To show she could change. He knew she was not evil. Back in Domsville, when she was the most feared RD, he discovered that every one of her kills were brutal, but always done with a reason. Were they all forgivable? He did not know, but one thing was sure. She might have been someone he loved, and might not be as evil as he once perceived, but she had still done disgusting things without a good reason.