Call Me After You Die

On my sixth birthday, my parents took me out to celebrate and never came back.

My older sister kicked me out of the house years later, calling me a scheming, toxic jinx.

On the day I died, I could not stop myself from dialing her number one last time.

"Keira, I'm dying," I pleaded into the receiver. "Can you please come save me?"

She was at the movies with her golden boy, Weston.

Her final words to me were ice cold.

"Talk to me after you're dead."

Just as she wished, I really did die.

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