Whatever you think they are, they aren't anymore. Those pure, holy beings with snowy white wings and golden harps are nothing like what I've seen. I'd never understood it. A supreme being, living in paradise with all the good people who passed away. All those dead humans? This is not what they had become. That is not how they would spend the rest of eternity. Singing and dancing in the sky as they brought love and kindness to the world. Ha, don't make me laugh. Those are people. Good, breathing people. They are far and in between, but human. These things are nothing like that. They have hung up their halos. And they have come down from the sky. They do not sing. They do not dance. They do not love. And they are no longer kind.

Emma ist erst 16, als sie bei einem Autounfall ums Leben kommt. Zurück bleiben ihre kleine Schwester Anna, ihr großer Bruder Nick, ihre Eltern und ihre beste Freundin Nathalie, die alle Unterschiedlich mit dem Tod von Emma umgehen Vielen Danke für's lesen, ich hoffe die Geschichte gefällt euch. Gerne auch Feedback da lassen, da freue ich mich am meisten drüber :D

Eine Geschichte über Schriftsteller und ihre eigenen Geschichten. Über Feedback würde ich mich sehr freuen:)