Death Note the user above you

Simple game, all in good fun. Write the username of the person above you, and input a cause of death for them. Be as detailed or vague as you like, but let's not get this too serious, kay? We're not genuinely trying/wanting to kill people here.
Deaths can be realistic or ridiculously implausible, but remember this is a game.

Example: DarkTraitor - Beaten to death by rabid flea.

 

Helianthus annuus

PART 1

Spoiler

A simple game. I will keep in simple then, yes? I would grab the nearest object within my reach, preferably pointy and sharp or dense and thick. Then I would, simply, either jab at you or slam you over the head. That's the gist of it. But it doesn't end there. Here is a hypothetical situation: I invite you over for dinner. You accept, having felt sorry for me-- I had written you a desperate note, odoring of loneliness. You will have pitied. And you would have maybe thought, well, she's no other company. What harm could it do? A lifetime of hers spent in void sparking suddenly at his touch, in lieu of an hour or two of your day. "I'll be glad to attend," says him.

She is setting up the dinner table as he knocks on the door. She strides over to the door, a knife in hand, and opens it. He smiles awkwardly. She nods, turns, and with wave of finger and flick of hair strand, beckons him into her living quarters. They walk across the living room floorboards and over to the kitchen. The butter knife is placed in its proper place, the table now set and ready.

Rifling through the cupboards, her hands paused briefly and after much hesitancy, pulled out a bottle. A bottle of liquor, clutched between her scrawny fingers. "Devil Springs Vodka. A potentially lethal substance. You like?"

"You are how old again?"

"Fourteen."

He raised an eyebrow and smiled weakly as she whipped out a shot glass and began to pour the liquor, not having even dared to ask him if or if not he would have liked a shot. She was very obviously new to this, this people business, and not too capable a server. The shot was cradled in her hands and brought to front the man. The bottle laid down with a thunk. Drinking so heavily before even the appetizers? At this point a scintilla of suspicions presented itself before him, as just did the shot; he averted his gaze from the shot to her and, seeing her gaze expectant, reverted his gaze back to the glass before him. With a shrug and a swift flick of the hand, any doubt or distrust that had thus previously clouded his mind cleared.

Picking the shot up he inelegantly downed it in a sole gulp, keeping the glass midair after, cold rim pressed against his lips. Comforting. He struggled to think, thoughts arranging and rearranging themselves in an unpredictable pattern. Her shadow loomed over him still, the girl was standing still. She wouldn't be drinking with him? He was to drink alone? That's right... she poured one shot only... one shot... why did he feel so very shaky? After a mere shot? He was well accustomed to drinking in great binges, a nondrinker could drink more than he had just, any average body could drink at least four or five before having had their fill. Late into the night and on into wee hours of the morning the gang and him would drink; drink, drink, drink until they could no longer feel. Drink, drink, drink until they could no longer hear. Drink, drink, drink until they could no longer see. Yes. He was well accustomed to hangovers and truancy, and his temperamental step-father rattling off in angry German to him. So why, then, did he feel his grip on the shot lessen and his eyes blurring? Think. He should. He thought. Thinking. He could no longer.

The glass slipped finally from his loose fingers and smashed against the floor, shattering.

"160 proof vodka. An ABV of 80%. Potentially lethal."

"Wha--"

He was unable to finish that sentence as a vodka bottle slammed against his head, unable to utter a noise as his jaws clenched together. Eyes widening, then squinting, then closing. Closing. And so they remained. Closed. His fingers quite loose now. His breathing subsiding, his heart tugging along futilely; his bodily functions failing. Then too his heart subsided, its beat faltering to absolute silence. And so it remained. Silent.

She reached for the fallen butter knife, and reached over for the fallen body. Hugged him tightly. She could not have predicted this outcome; she had not counted on this happening, had not counted on this certain urge to overtake her. To overcome her. What had been planned an innocent get-together, a dinner for two, had... had... well. Not happened. She cursed her minimal vocabulary and terribly limited terminology, and vowed to better herself in said area. She had not been intent on killing him, no she hadn't been. Her offer was genuine. Truly. But the prospect of him leaving soon after, of him leaving her alone was enough to loosen a screw; they were to have dinner, and then he was to leave. An awkward exchange for two strangers. She knew she could not have him a friend, knew he would have to leave. She could have no one a friend. Well. Alive. But, but she could have him now! All to herself. She smiled at the thought.

And then, she reached once more for her pockets. Her right pocket. Out she pulled a single Sunflower seed. Butter knife in hand, her work began.

PART 2

Spoiler

Seasons had passed since then and
she sat, twiddling her thumbs.
Quince años and yet already behind
the safety panes of her window
twiddling her thumbs, an old lady.
She might as well knit, too.

A curious child faltered at her garden.
He tugged at his mother's coat sleeve,
she ignored him. Tugged him along.
And it's no wonder what oddity that
the boy had looked at so engrossed.

Outside the safety of her window panes,
the safety of this room's musty air,
it was a chilly night. But one patch of
her garden grew quite bright.
The oddity that seized the attention of
all such curious passerby.

Helianthus annuus, grew from her
single Sunflower seed.

The single Sunflower seed, grew from his
cracked cerebral cortex.

His seeded body, would keep her
company throughout the night.

Beautifully bright.

Oh, you wanted for me to write you down pen in hand, a notebook? A deathnote? F[orget] that. Where's the fun in that, the thrill, the unexpectancies? How boring.

 

Trampled to death by wild salmon in three hours.

 

No elaborate death? Like mine for DT. Ok. Fine. I kill you. The end!

 

LARiA



She will now die from a heart attack in 40 seconds.

 

Llave- Death by suicide. O.O

 

Dead .

 

Death by horse and buggy in the year 1925.

You had wanted to get some flowers for her that day. Poor Molly.

 

Burnt at the stake by the spawn of mosquitoes that you squashed >.>

 

Smurfasaurus

Killed by a pack of deranged smurfs riding a small dog.

 

Killed by a storm of coconuts that are on fire.

 

Smurfasaurus - Has body possessed by crusty old guy assumed by some to be a paedophile.

Damnit, slow ninja'd.
Mialement - Trampled to death by intelligent and colourful ponies.

 

Hit by a train you were supposed to board. You called off work to see an old friend on his death bed.

Too bad this friend never existed.

 

Well, at least I'd have a job by that time I guess.
Makaze - Debated to death by trolls.

 

Attacked by a brutal gang of old women, beating you down with their purses.

 

Sat on by a bunch of old men, using you as a chair to read Playboy, suffocating you in the process.

 

Squashed by Jonah's whale.