"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; what she read, I wrote. Sixteen minutes later, I was killed. And my killer claims to be the best friend I've apparently never had. ... *first place in Sunflower Awards* *featured on @storiesundiscovered for Halloween* *featured on @wattpadpoetry*