My name is Fay Hill. I'm sixteen. And I'm dead.
How come, you ask? I'll tell you if you want.
But to do so, we must go back to the start.
If you aren't interested, I suggest you don't read this.
After all, whether you believe me or not, relies entirely on you.

When I was five, my brother killed himself. Back then, my young mind didn't even consider the fact that it would linger on so long, that my family would never get over it. I didn't realize that it was a much bigger deal than I thought it was.

My parents thought I was going to go insane. That I would be a little, disturbed child. Plus, they were so sad about losing their child, that they took extra care of me. They looked after me more than they should have, and to be honest, it bothered me.

Then, when I was ten, my best friend died. I started to be less emotionally active, and it worried my parents. I overheard them one night, saying that I wasn't normal. I told myself to be just like the other normal girls my age, and asked my parents if I could go horse-back riding.

My father died in a car-crash. But not just some car-crash. It was a car-crash founded by me. He came to pick me up from a riding lesson, when a truck hit him. It was an instant-death. Which instantly lead to the suicide of my mother. The day she died, was the day I realized I missed their constant care and protection.

Then, when I was fourteen, my aunt, who'd taken me in, died. She was cooking me dinner. A huge fire tore down the house. I was in the garden at the time. My cat, Blinkie, was inside. He died, too.

When I was fifteen and a half, my boyfriend died. We were at the ocean, surfing. The rough waves pulled him under and the chord attached to his surf-board got stuck to a rock. He drowned right before my eyes, since I was there when it happened, trying to rescue him. But I was too weak; I was always too weak to save the ones I love.

And on my sixteenth birthday, I went out to celebrate with my two best friends, who'd taken me out of the house because they were tired of my constant depression. We went out for dinner. Apparently, the steak that night hadn't been cooked properly, or perhaps it was just a bad meat since it wasn't like we could afford any fine foods in nice restaurants. They died that same night.

At exactly 01:23 o'clock, a strange old man showed up at my door. I let him in, figuring nothing mattered now anyways. He told me he was Life. And his old age proved it. Apparently, he was one hundred and twenty-three years old. At first I didn't believe him. Then he told me, that he could prove it by telling me I was Death. I called him crazy. And he told me, that it was either that, or it wasn't coincidence at all, that everyone close to me has been dying ever since I was a little girl.

So I guess that's the beginning and the ending to my story. I am Death. I hope that besides telling you all this on-line, I won't meet you in real life, or become your friend. I hope we never have to encounter each-other at all, for that matter. I hope we remain strangers for eternity. Well, besides this.

I'm switching schools next week. I don't plan on making friends. I don't plan on finding love. I plan on being alone and miserable for my entire life. Cos I can't stand to face more dread. More death. I can't. Bet you didn't expect Death to be such a coward.
Bet you didn't expect Death to be a girl, for that matter. Let alone a sixteen-year-old. But I am.

I'm Fay Hill. I am Death. And I'm signing out.