After my younger sister killed herself, she left behind one final message.
Everyone who read it died.
First it was Grandma, then my father, and finally my mother leapt from a thirty-story building.
Reporters fought tooth and nail to interview me. The police interrogated me through the night.
Countless people wanted to know what the message said.
I remained silent.
Until the tenth anniversary of my sister’s death, when I saw a figure standing before her gravestone.
In that moment, I was overwhelmed with excitement.
I knew my time to die had come.
