The Stack was still wet with blood as I slid the barrel of the 9mm down it’s length.

Bet you never thought you’d see me again. The Commander, the Tac Squad, the entire base on Elyria was in ruins. Nobody made it out, and I didn’t have to pretend anymore. But who would I pretend to be now? <br><br>The moment I yanked the trigger of the 9mm and put a round through the eyes of Commander Arrakis, I felt a thing my mind hadn’t experienced in nearly three decades. A familiar, foreign sensation that came with living life, not pretending to. That feeling, I found out, was freedom. <br><br>I remember the smell of the ocean the day my sister died. I was a little girl, my brother was little, and we were at my grandparents’ house. Our grandparents were coming from our house down on the island, with my mom and dad in tow. My younger brother, father, and mother were in our car, an SUV my dad had bought brand new that year. I was in the backseat, my little brother in front of me, and my dad was driving. My mother was in the passenger seat, her hand over her mouth to stifle a cough. <br><br>My grandparents were in their car, and the only one in their car was my older sister. <br><br>I remember walking through the dunes, and coming to the rest stop. There was a parking lot, and a crosswalk that ran across the highway. Before the crosswalk was a bunch of sand dunes that you could climb up. We climbed up, and on the other side of the crosswalk, we saw it. <br><br>The sheep was fully in the crosswalk, and  grazing in the median. Also in the crosswalk, speeding toward the sheep, my grandparents' car. <br><br>I don’t remember the sound it made, but I remember the sight of my sister’s head cracking against the windshield. <br><br>That was the day I died. <br><br>The day I died can be one of two days, and I like to pretend the day I got into the car crash was the day I died, and not the day I became a Stack. <br><br>Or, it could be the day my sister died, and I became a Stack. I like to think that my sister’s death was the day I died. <br><br>When my sister died, I felt a thing my mind hadn’t experienced in nearly two decades. A familiar, foreign sensation that came with living life, not pretending to, and that feeling, I found out, was freedom. <br><br>The Stack was still wet with blood as I slid the barrel of the 9mm down it’s length. The cold metal and the cool wetness of the blood brought me to a familiar place, a place that wasn’t mine. <br><br>I pushed the barrel down all the way, until the gun slipped between the Stack and my teeth. I bit down, and couldn’t help but remember the day of my sister’s death. <br><br>I remember the smell of the ocean. <br><br>I squeezed my jaw and pulled the trigger. <br><br>Come and find me.