When I was ten, I begged my older brother to come home and celebrate my birthday with me.
He died in that plane crash, and his body was never found.
From then on, I became a thorn in my parents' side, a bane in their eyes.
They blamed me for my brother's death, and every year on its anniversary, they forced me to kneel at the cemetery and repent.
I knelt like that for eight years.
I thought I would have to spend my life atoning, but on my eighteenth birthday, I was followed and killed by a criminal.
Before I died, I did everything I could to message my mother for help, but she only scolded me sharply.
"I knew you just didn't want to atone for your brother! You lie through your teeth! If you hadn't forced him to come back, my son wouldn't have died. This is the punishment you deserve!"
She hung up without a second thought.
I stared blankly at the dark screen, and suddenly I no longer wanted to live.
That's right. A scourge like me had no right to remain in this world.
But later, when the brother who had been dead for eight years came home with his pregnant wife,
they broke down when they learned I was dead.
