Dying in Three, Two, One

I stiffened. This was about Phoebe again. I now knew who Carl had been on the phone with—Eugene.

Well, it made sense. I'd always been known as a symbol of misfortune. Why else would I have cursed my family members?

I couldn't help shuddering at the thought of what Carl was capable of. After my mother's death, a kind doctor had taken me home. For three days after that, Carl had locked me up in the tool shed without food or drinks. Nobody had cared about me.

To this day, the incident haunted me. I thought I was about to die on my third day without sustenance when my eldest brother, Gary, had descended from the heavens and set me free. Though he hadn't expressed any concern toward me, he was still the kindest among my brothers.

I supposed he'd already heard about what I'd said earlier that morning.

When I didn't respond, Carl probably thought his threat had scared me. He leaned close and said, "You know what I'm capable of. It's easy enough for me to make a person disappear without a trace."

I widened my eyes and stiffened. Then, I watched as he turned and left.

After a while, I turned to head to my next destination, my footsteps heavy. My brain seemed to have stopped working.

I entered a photography studio. When I told the receptionist that I was there to take a photo for my funeral, her gaze softened with pity.

She comforted me, and the words made my grievances burst forth. Strangers' kindness had a way of unraveling emotions, and that was exactly what happened to me.

My tears dampened her shoulders, but she didn't say anything. She merely patted my back silently. She was nothing but a stranger, yet she'd given me so much warmth.

After leaving the studio, I crouched by the roadside with my urn and photo. I stared into the distance, my gaze unfocused.

I decided to head to the company to look for Gary. It took me a while to find it because I'd never been there before. The staff at the front desk stopped me. They told me I couldn't enter the building without an appointment and that Gary couldn't answer his phone because he was in a meeting.

I didn't want to give up so easily. I dialed the phone number I'd committed to memory several times, but no one answered. Then, I searched for Gary's social media accounts.

It was my last day in this world, and I wanted him to spend it with me, even if it was just for a brief moment. I messaged him on Instagram and waited anxiously for his reply. I also requested to follow him.

Two hours passed without an answer. I didn't want to die while I was outside, so I returned home. The maids had left the house to do some grocery shopping, leaving the house empty and quiet.

I started preparing a feast for dinner. At the same time, I prayed my brothers would return. I didn't receive any messages or notifications that my follow request had been approved.

I sat down and looked at myself in a handheld mirror. I watched as the numbers above my head slowly counted down. I had three hours to go.

I wanted them to be with me on my last day in this life; I wanted to know how they would react when I died. Maybe they would be pleasantly surprised—no one cared about my life or death, after all. They were my family, but they despised me with every fiber of their being.

I brought the food to the table and waited. Some oil had splashed onto my hand while cooking, and it hurt. It didn't take away from my excitement, though.

I realized something was wrong with me. I was so excited that I couldn't help trembling.

There were two hours to go. I remained in my seat and stared fixedly at the door. Then, I picked up my phone and called Gary with trembling hands. "Gary."

He'd answered my call but didn't say anything. I asked, "Can you guys come home to have a meal with me? I'm going to die."