Write a brief story about your death

Write a brief story about your death.
No greentext.
Nothing gay.

>So there I was in Las Vegas, staying at the Mandalay Bay...

>go home
>find my wife in bed with another man
>shit
>begin vigorously fucking him
>its too much
>massive aneurysm ruptures and results in a stroke
>goodbye sweet world

>be me
>die sucking dick

>be me, male
>have copious amounts of gay sex
>contract AIDS
>die

Gay

On a gray afternoon, on a random day and on a random street, OP was found motionless, laying on the sidewalk. His pants, underwear and shirt had been removed revealing his porcine girth, Hot Pocket cheese still stuck under his un-clipped fingernails. His tiny penis poked roughly two millimeters above the tuft of greasy pubic hair.

His body was discovered by a trio of off-duty prostitutes who were engaged in a crude game of ring toss with the corpse, using his tiny pecker as the peg and their Dollar Store jewelry as the rings.

He will be missed by no one.

Fake

Orange

Write about your death gayboi, not mein.

Death refuses to wait for the space of a breath; life is more evanescent than a mayfly or a lightning flash.

Some stream of consciousness exploration of a daydream that ends abru

Shaving

Mixing CNS depressants.

another dull overcast day. The breath of the cops gather into a cloud. "What are we dealing with?" one asks. "suicide" another replies. the cop shakes his head. they all three climb the bare concrete staircase to up to the second floor of the apartment complex. At the landing there are two doors on the left and right, the Officers go to the right, and walk into the already open door. They see the bare white walls, the lonely worn couch, the counters of the narrow kitchen appear to have been cleaned meticulously. In the center of the Living room, about 10 feet form the door hung a short fat, young looking guy.

I am briskly walking on the sidewalk of a small idyllic town somewhere in the Midwest. It is fall. A tightness grips my chest. I fall to my knees and then on all fours, panting, waving my hand at passersby. Suddenly a young man approaches. "Sir! Sir! he says, and runs over to my side. I hear the tires of cars passing, much like the gentle tumbling waves upon some quiet shore upon the Adriatic, heard from the balcony of a lost lover. "Sir! Are you alright," the boy shouts, interrupting my pleasant vision. He bends down to look into my eyes, and then raises me to my feet, wraps my arm round his shoulder. "Let's get you to a hospital," he says, and calls 911. We walk to a bench, he places me down gently, my chest vibrating now, my torso numb. "You're gonna be alright," he says to me, and continues providing information to the operator. To see a stranger care so much, so genuinely, well I could simply die with this joy in my heart. I smile. I am drifting, drifting, the town growing quieter, the waves ceasing, the man's voice dissipating into the ether. And suddenly, in this moment of bliss, a sedan jumps the curb and smashes violently into a crowd of people behind me. Mangled bodies and blood on its hood, it rushes toward me. The bumper crushes my back and lifts me upon the hood, then crushes the man who tried to save me. "Allah allah Allahabad ahkbar! Allah Allah allahuahkbar!" I hear, like a haunting melody in reverse, and I fade, fade, fade into nothing.

He thought of his lungs. The way they heaved during his youth during practice, how they fluttered when he saw her, how weak they felt when he held his child. Now he was caught by the short lungs, gasping, there wouldn't be anyone in his room in time to see. No doctor to offer mercy, no nurse compassion, no family members at his bedside at such late an hour. He was scared but at the least now, after all that he had gone through, he felt genuine.

>i died while getting fucked up the ass

>Nothing gay.
But I died with a cock in my ass.

LEL so clever and edgy tehe

>after all that he had gone through, he felt genuine
You just had to ruin it.

I literally had cocks in my ass though.

I don't know how I died though. Nobody has told me yet.

Death is weird, said Sinclair. I never liked it when my tulpa talked without being addressed by me, but he was aware of that, so I assumed he had something valuable to share.
Oh no that's all I had to say, he added on after a delay. Somewhat let down, I died.

Don't worry, Marlowe, no one else knows either

Top Kek my dude