My Dead Mother Turned Me Into Viral Content Novels & Stories

I stopped breathing. “What..?” I breathed out. “I watched it all. How everything happened. I made them record you so I wouldn’t miss out. The way you cried and screamed after your mommy made me horny.” My heart was pounding, and my breathing changed, shaking as he continued to laugh. My eyes burned with unshed tears. They videotaped my mother’s death as if it was some kind of entertainment? “Your reaction was praiseworthy. Screaming, crying, and shouting before going numb. That shit went straight to my cock. It had me almost jerking off to it.”

And when I got tired of hearing it, I cut out his tongue. "You're a monster! You shouldn't be alive!" Mom roared as her eyes were wild and bloodshot. Vader seemed utterly satisfied by her reaction. The more they broke down, the harder he laughed. His laughter stabbed their hearts like daggers and shredded them into pieces. Mom's shoulders shook violently as she clenched her jaw to hold back tears. "It's all our fault… We failed Bas as parents…" Dad wrapped an arm around her and closed his eyes in pain. "He died because of us."

"Why isn't she dead yet? With a daughter like Josie, of course, her mother isn't some saint. She should've died long ago!" "The Beeches are so pitiful. That bitch Josie is ruining all of them!" Just then, Yasmin appeared on the livestream and said to her mother, "Mom, what are you doing? Can you stop talking nonsense?" The very next second, the livestream went dark. Their little mother-daughter performance had gone off without a hitch. In less than ten minutes, Emily's stream shot straight to the top of the trending topics, even hotter than any of Yasmin's earlier scandals.

Not as a conqueror, but as the author. The core was mine. Truly mine. And I knew what I had to do. I reached out through the network, my touch gentle, assured. I found the city’s central comms array. I began to broadcast. Not a command. Not a lie. A story. I sent out the home movie. The grainy, black-and-white images of my mother dancing. The sunlight. The laughter. I sent it to every screen, every device, every mind connected to the garden. I followed it with a single line of text, scrolling in every language known to man.

As I listened carefully, I vaguely heard her say, "I love Liam... Please, let him be safe..." Looking at her devout appearance, I suddenly found it laughable. Love was something I never understood for as long as I lived. However, every one of Mom's actions contradicted any definition of love. Did someone like her deserve "love?" After the failed attempts to save him, Dad died from excessive blood loss. Soon after, Mom was sent to the insane asylum. She didn't fare well there, as the place was full of unreasonable lunatics. As her family member, I applied to visit her.

"Please, wake up. You can’t—you can’t be gone. Not like this. Not without me. Not without happiness. Not like this!" Ryan held me, his grip firm, his own breath uneven. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Because my mother was dead. And I had come too late to save

I was devastated. Then two months after I turned eighteen, my mother passed away unexpectedly. My father was inconsolable and fell into a deep depression. Three months later he became seriously ill and has been in the elderly home, he was diagnosed with dementia his wolf died after my mom died, he doesn't even remember me sometimes. I was alone after it was all said and done. That's when I decided to become a doctor who understands werewolves to help people like my dad. I was strong and athletic and being a warrior seemed

Just me and this baby. I stared out the horizon till I got bored then I picked up my phone and decided to scroll through it. I had deactivated my accounts to keep myself away from cyber bullies and those filthy gossip about me. What can I say? I had to maintain my mental health. I activated my accounts and went through what I had missed these past months. And as usual, there were a lot of degrading topics about me here and there. But one in particular caught my attention. A video. Isn’t that… my mother?

Her eyes were threaded with so many blood vessels that it was terrifying to look at. On the fourth day, she finally stood up. She walked into the kitchen, picked up a knife, and went to find Dad. “Adam, I’m the one who killed our daughter. You must hate me. Go ahead, kill me. Take your revenge.” After losing me, Mom was like a walking corpse. She hated herself for what she had done to me. The guilt and the pain were crushing. She had no will left to live. She could not bring herself to kill herself. So, she begged my father to do it for her.

Anything I so much as glanced at, they bought immediately. But I didn't want any of it. My body gradually improved, but my mental state worsened. The longer I stayed in that house, the more restless I felt. The things I once longed for—gifts, my parents' attention—now felt like burdens. On New Year's Eve, my mother made my favorite dishes. But after a few bites, I started to vomit. My mother's eyes reddened with guilt. "I… I didn't put too much oil. Is it still too greasy?"