[COMPLETED] "We are both cursed, father, you and I; we were both born to die..." Ten years ago, on the tenth of October, my father killed himself, a man loved by everyone but me. On this tenth of October, I dedicate to him my last words, before killing myself just as he did. (May contain suicidal triggers)

"But when one has no way of exceeding the limit of sixteen, Is death not the ideal medicine?..." ... On the night of my sixteenth birthday, my killer made me write sixteen letters to myself, dictating every word. Sixteen minutes later, I was dead. And my killer claimed to be the best friend I apparently never had. ... *first place in Sunflower Awards* *featured on @storiesundiscovered for Halloween* *featured on @wattpadpoetry*