Death Writing Romane & Geschichten

I had been planning to be at the West Mountain Pack anyway to celebrate Lily’s 14th birthday. As a doctor, death is not a foreign concept for me. The reality of my job is that I regularly encounter dying or deceased werewolves, and I work with a lot of grieving families. It is not uncommon in either the human or werewolf worlds to paint the dead with rose-colored glasses. For example, I have regularly seen drunken, abusive a&&holes eulogized as caring, dedicated fathers.

Original Death is watching with patience that feels like inevitability. And the clock is ticking toward extinction.

He was also crying but he still put me first because I felt like I was going to faint from what I witnessed. Just like in my dream. It is true that Don Jose is dead. His body was so decomposed that we buried him without opening the coffin. Just like papa, we will also cremate Don Jose's body. All relatives and acquaintances of Don Jose attended. Almost all the townspeople sympathized with the loss of Don Jose. Even so, security is still tight at the Mansion because Beth has not been caught yet.

Hopefully, she was realizing it. Then it continued, "This is different. The death is different from sleep. Though, both has the same complexsion. In death, they sleep with eyes shut and lay still just like us. However, sadly they don't wake the next morning or at night. They keep sleeping. They are still and don't even move or hears anyone. That's why, as their finally beds, they are kept in the ground so no one would disturb them. No one wakes them or move away their blankets. They are covered well. They keep sleeping and never wakes up ever." Loathefiya got shocked.

Her article would need corroborating witnesses that weren’t her or Dave. Acheki reached out to her for her statement. “Are you ready to give your statement?” “Yes, but has anything come about with Junior?” He sighed. “Yes, we were alerted that he has gone on to greener pastures.” She knew what that meant. It was a saying they used when someone died. It came about around the Apocalypse. “I see. So, what is the official cause of death?” “Extreme dehydration. There was nothing they could do. Now, do you mind telling me what happened?”

If he was even a little bit sober, he wouldn't forget how much he hated her, let alone speak to her like that. Olivia buried her head in his embrace. Sniffling and trembling, she asked, "Ethan, what would you do if I were dead?" "What are you talking about?" "Everyone dies. Everyone born into this world ages and eventually falls sick before dying. No one can escape that." "Well, then I will die with you. We will enter eternal slumber together and be laid to rest at the same place." Smiling helplessly, Olivia tightly held onto his shirt. "Nonsense. I'm sure you'll celebrate with fireworks and marry someone else the moment I pass on."

Layla's fans sang her praises, saying that she was kind, beautiful, and the best sister in the world. It was raining on the day they cremated my remains. Layla carried the urn containing my ashes and pretended to shed a few tears. I moved toward her. Then, I tried to punch and kick Layla to try and get her hands off me. It was so revolting. Everything about this world sickened me. I dropped to the ground after having exhausted myself. Then, I watched as they put me inside a small box. The words, "Our dearest daughter, Hazel Larson", could be seen on the rectangular tombstone. How ironic.

Only then did they realize the Jensen family had more than one daughter. I even heard some people whisper about how I'd been dead for ages. The Jensens threw themselves into philanthropy after my death—maybe they wanted to use it to negate the bad karma they'd gathered over the years. … It was my death anniversary again. My brothers gathered before my resting spot. Eugene was still wearing the scarf, which was now becoming worn after one too many washes. A fresh bouquet was placed before my gravestone, which had been cleaned. I felt my soul turning transparent. It looked like I wouldn't have to spend much longer by their sides.

“It’s the date this codicil was approved by your father.” I stared as my chest tightened. “Why?” he asked. “Is it significant?” My head bobbed, though I couldn’t form the words. “I-it’s the day he died.” The young man beside me sucked in a breath. “Th-that…” He stammered, “can’t be right. Maybe it’s a typo?” “It could be right. He died during the evening, a heart attack after he fell asleep.” They say that a quick and painless death is like being kissed by an angel. I always wondered how he warranted a kiss. Maybe this codicil was it?

All while screaming. There’s nothing more to say, he’s dying now. He can feel it, that fear, it’s palpable. She could smell it in the air, and Gods did it make her heart lighter. She never claimed to be a good person, and this was why. Most deaths she wouldn’t revel in, but his. Oh, yes. She’ll revel in his death; it’s more than deserved. It’s overdue. Finally, he stops screaming and slumps in the chair. She waits a few more moments, listening to his body’s sounds. Once she’s certain he’s gone she turns off the burrower,