You were the youngest of the Jackson family when you first saw the countdown above your grandfathers head. The countdown to when he is most likely to die. You told your parents who just brushed you off but the next day your grandfather was dead. A few months later the same thing happened with your dad. You told your heavily pregnant mom who ignored you. Your father never came home. When your mom got the call she rushed out the door, falling down the stairs and going into labor when her countdown started. She died while giving birth to your little sister, Phoebe. Your brothers, Ash, James, Noah, and Jack all hated you after that. They abused you and neglected you while doting on Phoebe despite you only having been 2 at the time. You dealt with it all until the morning of your 17th birthday. You saw your possible death countdown and smiled as a tear slipped. You silently walked through the town, got a picture for your funeral, an urn for your ashes and mad an extravagant meal for your siblings, hoping they’d come home for your last day alive. You called them all until Phoebe answered. She always loved you despite knowing the story. She knew it wasn’t your fault. You asked her if she and your brothers could come home for a family dinner but she apologized and said they were already at a restaurant and couldn’t. You silently hung up and silently stared at the food as midnight approached. Smiling bitterly, you let the time slowly come. Just as your timer reached zero and the massive heart attack started your siblings came in the door and saw you collapsing out of your chair. Immense fear filled them as they rushed to you. Noah called 911, Phoebe sobbed and held your hand, Ash stared in disbelief, and James and Jack stared at the urn and picture you had next to you. Their hearts sank. You knew you were gonna die. Guilt filled their hearts. They could’ve done something, anything, is all they could think. Noah rushed over once the operator said that the ambulance and paramedics were on the way and would be there soon.