"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*