Sun Diver's Book
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I Faked My Death
When the president married his white moonlight, I was locked in the basement, my heart stopped. All the doctors were at a loss; no one knew I was the only heir to the art of faked death in the world. The president wept bitterly at my funeral, while I had already flown abroad, sunbathing on the beach and admiring the abs of handsome young men. Life was supposed to go on happily like this. But the president went crazy and checked the surveillance from the day I was buried. That day, the president was furious and vowed to dig three feet into the ground to find me.