Novel & Cerita Death

Damn it! @Death Wish

“If you’re going to do something, don’t do it in half-measures. Do something right for once. Do your worst, you bitch. If you want to kill me, then do it!” “You must really want to die!” Freda growled, raising the hand that held the knife solidly in its grip. Her eyes looked crazed as she brought the knife down, her intentions clear. Anelia kept her eyes open, watching as the knife drew closer and closer to her. Is this how she died? In the hands of Dexter’s ex, a man that clearly didn’t care for her with as much desperation as she did. Could one even say that she had dies for love, when the so-called love was one-sided?

He said and I nodded m y head. Peace smiled at me and we continued to talk when a phone rang, it’s Death’s. “Yeah? What is it? I don’t have time for bullsh----What?! Dang it!” Death said and ended the call and looked at me. “He’s gone.” He said that made me feel like my heart skipped from beating a second. “W-what?” I said. “I mean----Devren, he is missing.” He said I stood up. “F*ck you.” I whispered but enough for to heard it

“People d‍on’t just‌ ap⁠pear at twen‌ty-‍five.” “E⁠xactl‍y.” Kieran pul​l⁠e‌d up a​noth⁠er d‌ocument​. “This is a​ death cer‍tificate. Wom⁠an named‌ Elena W‌int‍ers. Died fi‌ft⁠y⁠-t⁠hr⁠ee years ago.” My stoma​ch dro​pp‍ed. “Someone with the‌ same n‌ame. T​hat’s​—‌”

Thanksgiving is over, my friends have returned home. Austin has returned home. Antonio’s body has returned to the local funeral parlor. Over the past week I have been dealing with phone calls and emails about Antonio’s death. No one seems to have boundaries. This is my husband. I’ve tried to stay off of the computer, even to check email because of seeing all the news. “Antonio Anderson death”, “Antonio Anderson passes away, age 43”, “Antonio Anderson died in a horrific car crash”, “Mrs. Anderson moves on without Mr. Anderson”. No Mrs. Anderson didn’t move on, why are they so grimy?

I don’t know why, but something is rotten in my gut and it’s never wrong. We storm through the building, Roddy’s being the last room at the end of the long ass hallway. The door is locked and Grouch sticks his ear to it, then backs up and kicks it open. The immediate stench of death I know all too well hits my nose and I can’t believe nobody has noticed it. It’s at least fifteen doors from mine. Missile and Grouch storm in, but I can already see the lifeless body of Ryan “Roddy” Grimes on the bed. I step in the room and see a needle sticking right out of his fucking arm. His skin is already discolored, he’s been dead a couple days. And nobody even realized it.

He was still wearing his button-down, though it looked like he’d lost a fight with a steamroller. ​"Ash?" I croaked. "Are you alive?" ​"No," he muttered, his voice a gravelly wreck. "I am a medical professional, and I am officially diagnosing myself as deceased. Please don't move. The sound of your eyelids blinking is too loud." ​I gingerly sat up, the room tilting dangerously to the left. On the coffee table sat three empty glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin—likely the work of a semi-conscious Ashton before he collapsed. Beside them sat my phone.

She was dying. ...

Kael tapped the screen, and the headline lit up instantly, bold and chilling: **"MYSTERIOUS DEATHS CONTINUE AMID ICE CIRCUIT: THIRD PLAYER FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE ARENA" I took a step closer, reading over his shoulder. The article described how, over the last four days, three players from different teams had been found dead in almoo similar conditions, no visible wounds, just collapsed in alleyways or locker rooms. And all within hours of finishing a game or training session.