How to Die
Everybody knows this, but, die young. I look around at my fellow contestants and fight a smirk. I’m only twenty, won’t even be drinking legal for months. I can see them peering at me, thinking thoughts they don’t realize are petty and unflattering, thinking, for example, why would little One-Eye want to win her own death?
But they’re here, too. We aren’t any different. Except I have a better story.
The casting call was expansive, expensive. Pop-up ads on all three of the singles websites I frequented, text messages sent out weekly to contacts either stolen or bought from the country’s busiest therapists.
[ Full story here, originally in Black Warrior Review ]