Read Death Novels & Stories

Maybe this was it for me. Death. Maybe this was peace.

There, right beside my husband Brandon in the photo, was my so-called best friend, Melissa. … Snapping out of it, I stared at Melissa's two-faced expression. She must have known about the lottery win by then. They had probably plotted the whole thing, faking his death to pocket the cash. "Noelle, don't take it so hard. You're already unwell. What if Brandon's death makes you worse?" I shrugged off Melissa's hand and asked with eerie calm, "Where's Brandon's body? I want to see him." Melissa blinked, thrown off by my composure. "In the ward," she stammered.

Alpha Matthew, who loved her so deeply, seemed to have a hard time accepting this reality. After he came to, the first thing he did was rush to the lake. Desperately, he grabbed at the pitiful warriors. "No. It can't be. Amber isn't dead! She's carrying my child. We are about to be parents. Why would she take her own life? "I don't believe it. I will not believe that she's dead until I see her body. You people are lying to me. I will find her and get her back!" A warrior explained hesitantly, "Alpha Matthew, based on our investigation, Luna Amber was diagnosed with perinatal depression. This explains why she would take her own life.

In timing. These souls were not scheduled. They were not substitutions. No balance was redirected to account for their removal. They were taken because Death chose to take them. That distinction matters. “You intervened,” I say. This is not accusation. It is record. Death does not deny it. He stands exactly as he always does when he carries excess, posture steady, attention precise. The markings along his form burn faintly, not fading, not dispersing. Pain contained where it always is. Within him.

Oh shit! I'm dead. So very dead.

Like the presence of our loved ones is finally at rest and we are free to move on. The dancing starts shortly after. We have mounted their death and now it is time to celebrate their lives. The cool air dries my tear-stained cheeks as I laugh and spin, dancing with my people. There is a kinship forming here, one where pain deepens it, but joy solidifies it. Everyone smiles and laughs as drinks and food flood the area and memories spill into the meadow like a dam releasing its waters.

The smell of lilies was always the first thing to return. It was the scent of my own funeral, a cloying sweetness that made me want to gag. I opened my eyes and didn't move. I didn't breathe. I just counted the cracks in the gold-leaf ceiling of the ducal bedchamber. One, two, three... I knew them all. I had memorized them while gasping my last breath in Life Four. I had stared at them while my vision went black in Life Seven.

The news of the dead on the streets of a busy city quickly spread on the Internet. One of the biggest reasons was that the scene of the death was too tragic, and another reason was that it was related to the Death Judge. “The Death Judge made a move again. This time, he killed people on the streets!” “Really? Why isn’t there a live broadcast this time?” “It must be fake. Didn’t the Inquisitor broadcast it in the afternoon? Why did it start again at night? It’s too frequent.”

At that time I realized that the silence of loneliness was sad and suffocating. On the other hand, I can’t help but blame myself for what happened. However, I know more than anyone else that if I don’t fetch his soul someone else will do it. Death is not something that a person or anyone in the world has control over especially if a person’s death is predestined and written. I learned CSA killed Mr Perelman or Central Sleep Apnea a condition wherein a person pauses in breathing due to a lack of respiratory effort during sleep. That’s the thing Hazel explained to us when we last got together after the funeral.

Her voice was quiet through the rain and eyebrows furrowed so deeply that they created a dent between the two. "Reniella De Vega and Deshawn Cervantes. Don't worry, I'm just checking in," Death replied. From the time written on his watch, it was New Year's Eve that Deshawn Cervantes was supposed to die. Deshawn, though soaked from the rain, looked very much alive. "We're fine," Reniella cut in sharply. Death nodded his head slowly and the gold sheen of life that exuviated from Deshawn was clear even through the darkness. It was a bright aura that stuck to his body and stretched out before melting against Reniella's ambiance.