I wait for my favourite uncle to come home, smiling and combing my hair.
But when I see him, I can’t help but scream. I see the shadow of death on him, and I wail.
“Banshee!” my cousin cries.
They rush my uncle into the house, running from my grief. He, who played with me when I was alive… should I no longer love him because I’m dead?
No one can outrun fate. His heart seizes that night, killing him.
I cry for grief, and I cry because the ones I love think I’m bringing death, not warning of it.
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alt="Phantom by Liam Dragan"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Neuroluxe Implant no 3Z82M99B64 by Bryanna Botham"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Blindly Following Orders by Chris Tattersall"
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