The Letter That Arrived Late

On your 18th birthday, you receive a letter that tells you exactly how you’ll die. No exceptions.

No mistakes. Doctors have tested it. Police have verified it.

Every single letter has come true. That’s why people panic when theirs arrive.

I never got one. At first, everyone thought it was a delay. Then they thought

it was an error. By 25, people started avoiding me. Because in a town

where death is guaranteed, the only person without a letter is the problem. Last night,

my neighbor knocked on my door—shaking. He said, “I think you should see this.”

He handed me his letter. It didn’t describe his death. It described me.