My sister, Krystal, was only eighteen when she died. The day I was born, I knew she was destined to die at that age. I just didn’t understand why.

 

January 16, 2001

            My family and I were driving home from the hospital; mom was pregnant. My mother was just so happy, as she learned another girl would be on the way. I was already eight, far too mature to argue and whine about another child in our home. I knew my parents would love me just the same.

“What will she look like?” I asked quietly, staring at the beaming city lights of Macau. My mother leaned over and my neatly-brushed hair, bright blonde strands coming out of place.

“Well, she’ll probably have pretty blonde hair like yours,” she hummed. “She’ll have sparkling blue eyes; that shine in the moonlight, just like yours.” She smiled warmly at me, as if giving me reassurance that I would still be their ‘family princess’.

In a split second, I felt the car swerve violently. The both of them screamed, mother holding onto her stomach to protect the baby while my father leaned back into the seat for protection.

“Marc, get a hold of the car!” my mother yelped.

“I can’t! The break is broken!” my father panicked. They shared a knowing look while I watched the scene I horror.

Five seconds. That was all it took for our car to collide with another.

Fortunately my family and I weren’t injured, but my mother feared that the baby may have gotten hurt by the impact of the crash.

Three weeks after the incident, I started seeing numbers on peoples’ wrists.

I saw it on everyone; the kids at the mall, my classmates, my teachers, my mother, my father – they all had different numbers on their wrist. I was scared; I didn’t know what the numbers meant – or why I saw them.

“Mom, why are there numbers on your wrist?” I asked one day, pointing at the numbers “042”, which looked bold and black like a fresh tattoo. My mother looked at me with a puzzled look.

“Jessica, there are no numbers. Are you seeing things?” she asked, worry painting her face. I gulped and shook my head before muttering a small ‘never mind’. Everything was all too confusing.

            I realized what the numbers meant when my grandmother died. The funeral service was glum and quiet, my parents couldn’t stop weeping. During the viewing, I saw the numbers on my grandmother’s frail, bony wrist. “000”.

            She had zero years. She had no have any years left to live because she was dead. I panicked, lifting myself up from the coffin examination. The numbers “062” on my classmate, Anna’s, “023” on my teachers’ wrist, it all made sense. I didn’t understand why I had this power. I looked down on my own wrist; the numbers “053” were bold and black.

            My powers scared me.

 

March 29, 2001

            Krystal, parents decided, was born. She didn’t look anything like me. Her lips were slightly bigger, her eyes were brown and bigger, her hair was brown as well. She looked like my Korean father while I looked like my Irish mother. We looked nothing alike.

To say I was jealous of Krystal would be an understatement. My parents ogled over her all the time, spoiling her with presents and showering her with love. But overall, I was confused. I didn’t see any numbers on her wrist.

 

March 29, 2002

            I was in utter horror when Krystal e. She finally had numbers on her wrist. “018.” Krystal would only live until the age of eighteen. It was horrifying, as she lived in silent oblivion, silent innocence.

“Jessica?” Krystal called out in an annoyingly high-pitched voice. I slumped down against the wall, amidst the balloons that coated the tile floor. I ignored the birthday girl, unable to process her life’s truth. She crawled into my lap and snuggled into my chest, allowing me to examine her wrist. She really did only have eighteen years left; the numbers were bold and clear.

            As the years progressed, I got even more frightened of my powers. I learned that the amount of years people had yet to live was not only determined by health, but by fate. My classmate, Xiao-zi, had the numbers “000”. Her health was perfect, but when my teacher came in sobbing with the news of Xiao-zi’s death, I was surprised. The numbers decided the span of life, not the decision of how the person would die. Krystal was a healthy kid, which only meant she would be killed, and not ill, my protectiveness for immediately her sky-rocketed.

           

September 3, 2005

            When Krystal started school, there was no doubt in my mind that she would be a victim of… something. Krystal was bullied. I was twelve, in seventh grade, on a whole different level than my sister. Krystal was four, in kindergarten, and was being bullied. I couldn’t even help her. I was a popular girl; my reputation was being questioned by all my friends.

“Why are you so over-protective?” My friend Stephanie asked, raising a brow at me. Our friend, Megan, stepped up, looping an arm around Stephanie’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you act like she’s going to die or something!” Megan chuckled. But that was the problem; I was worried about the numbers on her wrist.

“You guys don’t understand. Krystal, she doesn’t have a lot of years left,” I muttered, eyes averted from their gaze. Stephanie let out a throaty laugh, while Megan clicked her tongue.

“Ohh, spooky,” Stephanie teased. She picked her bag up, waiting for Megan to pick her books up. They were still laughing at me, making me feel even angrier. I guess middle school was just that age when I began to realize who was a real friend and who wasn’t.

“See you tomorrow, ghost whisperer,” Megan waved. I waved back glumly, depression taking over my feelings.

 

October 9, 2013

            Krystal grew up hating me. She became cold and lifeless, an unapproachable aura dusted over her personality. She wasn’t the bubbly, sweet girl anyone used to know – she was a whole different person.

“Why do you hate her so much?” my mother cried. Krystal briskly threw another plate to the floor, shattering it to pieces, as if a warning to not come any closer. Krystal pulled on her disarranged hair, angry tears dripping down her face and onto her schoolgirl skirt.

“The damn girl won’t let me breathe!” Krystal shrieked.

“She’s just being a good sister!” my father argued. My sister wailed, succumbing to the cold, shard-covered floor. I watched the scene in guilt. Krystal spoke as if I was making her suffer, but I was only trying to protect her. She was a blooming adolescent who wanted her space.

“I am so done! Stop trying to get me to change, I don’t want anything to do with Jessica!” Krystal insisted, tears dripping to the floor, mixing with the blood that poked out of her pale knees. I watched her grow through the years, hatred evolving and showing for me through appearance and personality.

            I was a sophomore in college and Krystal was in seventh grade middle school. She kept her hair long and straight, up to her waist. She was tall – very tall, and her body was slightly thicker than mine. I maintained my image oppositely; my hair was always curled and blonde, up to my ribs. Krystal was already taller than me, but I was thinner so it wasn’t a big deal. I got a modelling offer for Vogue Macau, so my parents always guessed that Krystal was jealous. Krystal developed a cold aura that left boys curious and girls afraid. I was so worried.

            My parents, everyone else for that matter, just didn’t understand that Krystal hated me. Krystal didn’t understand why I had to protect her. No one understood that horror I felt whenever I saw the numbers “006” tattooed on her wrist.

 

May 21, 2015

            Vogue Macau asked Krystal to model for them when she was in ninth grade. I was in my final year of college, too busy with exams and Vogue to even look at Krystal.

“I don’t get it, why do they want you to model? You’re way too young,” my father complained, stirring his coffee weakly. I was studying for another exam, not really paying attention to the bickering at the breakfast table.

“Oh shush, they just think Krystal’s pretty,” my mother grinned, pinching Krystal nearly non-existent cheeks as she took a seat. Krystal grimaced at the action, placing her attention to her phone as she checked her Instagram updates.

“I’m just Jessica’s replacement since she can’t attend photo-shoots half the time,” Krystal huffed bitterly.

“We’re heading to Vogue in half an hour for your interview, hurry up and eat,” my mother ordered. She handed Krystal a small bowl of fruit.

“This is all I get to eat?” Krystal raised a brow. I lifted my face up from my textbook and smiled.

“Welcome to the world of modelling, baby Krys,” I scoffed.

 

“Name?” the director asked.

“Krystal Sue Jung,” Krystal replied with a bored expression.

“Date of birth?”

“March 29, 2001.”

“Your height and weight is?”

“Five foot nine, ninety-three pounds,”

“I like you cheekbones. Your oval shaped eyes are a good point, but you’re a little too fat,” the director inspected Krystal’s features.

“How on Earth is she too fat? The girl is a stick!” my mother retorted.

“She’s ten pounds overweight, Mrs. Jung,” the director deadpanned. I watched in the sidelines as she practically belittled my sister, making her emotional walls break down. “But after working with us for a bit, she can surely lose them. So how about it, would you like to work with us Krystal?” the director asked.

“I’ll do it.” Krystal agreed confidently. It was the dawn of a new chapter for my little sister.

            Over time, I found myself getting busier and busier. Krystal seemed to be getting skinnier and skinner than usual, but she was brighter and happier than ever before. She seemed to enjoy interaction with the other models and trying on clothes, she even cut her hair a bit. Krystal was just… different, as if she stepped into a new kind of society. After I graduated college, I decided to launch my own cosmetics brand.

 

“Sica Cosmetics and Vogue should collaborate,” I told Krystal one day. It was one of those rare days I got to see her and the rest of my family, and Krystal was looking unhealthily skinny.

“You’re right, maybe we would see each other more often,” she joked sadly. “Say, all those past years while we were growing up... Why were you so protective?” Krystal asked. I gulped and looked down. I was afraid to tell her the truth, even after her life had been going so well.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I sighed.

“But I need an answer, Jessica!” Krystal whined childishly. Gathering all my courage, I was ready to be honest.

“Before you were born; mom, dad and I nearly died in a car crash. After that, I started seeing numbers on peoples’ wrists. I didn’t understand what they meant until grandma died. The numbers represent how long people have yet to live, they get smaller every year. When people die, the numbers are left at zero. So when you were born, I got scared. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

            Krystal looked at me in shock, bony hands trembling. “So does that mean… I’m going to die soon? Please answer me honestly,” she begged, lifting up the sleeve of her chiffon blouse. For the first time in three years, I took a glance at her wrist. I bit my lip; it felt so bad to lie to her. I held back my tears as I read the numbers to myself. “001”. I looked her in the eye and smiled.

“You have a lot of years left, I promise,”

“Give me a specific number!”

“You have forever to live.”

Krystal shrugged and smiled faintly as she pulled her sleeve down.

“I was never afraid of death, anyway.”

Strangely, she didn’t seem fazed by the idea of it.   

 

 

August 9, 2019

            ‘Sica Cosmetics’ became the top makeup brand in Asia. I became a tycoon. Work consumed my life; it changed everything I ever thought I knew about myself. I hardly saw my family anymore; even thinking about them made me worry or upset. The thought that killed me the most was that this was the year Krystal was destined to die in, I just didn’t know how or when it would happen.

“You need a vacation,” my assisted, Yoona, sighed. “You’ve been working non-stop since last month. Not to mention Etude-House is your biggest competitor this year and you’ve been trying so hard. Take a rest.”

“I can’t just take a vacation,” I groaned, rubbing my temples. “The new BB Creams are supposed to launch next week and I need to finish perfecting every arrangement,” I snapped. Yoona sighed and patted my back. I worked in Korea now, leaving my family in Macau. Work changed me, ultimately changing who I was.

“Go home, see your family,” Yoona pursed her lips. “Your baby sister must miss you.”

“That brat never misses anyone,” I chuckled. I kept trying to forget about Krystal. She always seemed so upbeat and happy; as if the number on her wrist was a hoax. Krystal replaced me at Vogue, making me feel bad during our Skype calls as well. Krystal suddenly made me feel angry all the time. I felt so insignificant compared to her; she was already the jewel of Vogue. Insulting her made me feel more at ease about her anticipated death. Yoona flipped around, returning to her lounge with the other co-workers.

            Worrying, crying, and getting angry, occupying my mind with other topics and goals wasn’t going to solve anything. Watching over Krystal like a hawk wasn’t going to solve anything either.

            No matter what I did – no matter what anyone did – she was destined to die as an eighteen-year old Vogue model, which was seemingly happy and at ease. I was probably the one who felt like dying inside, even when I had so many more years than her.

I suddenly began to realize how lonely I was.

September 14, 2019

 

She died that day.

I returned to my apartment with the abrupt news of Krystal’s suicide, along with a request to fly back to Macau for the viewing. Everything happened too quickly.

“And today’s top story, Krystal Jung, Macau’s youngest and newest model took her own life today at five in the morning. The Korean-Irish supermodel was found hung along the catwalk area at Vogue, and was pronounced dead at the scene. The eighteen year old…”

“Turn it off.” My mother croaked. I couldn’t.

“…Was presumably…”

“Jessica, I said turn it off!” my mother shrieked, crumbling down onto the ground as tears rolled down her cheeks. Weakly, I pressed the remote control, body shaking.

“It’s my fault,” I whispered. My mother looked up at me, confusion written all over her tear-streaked face.  “I knew she was going to die, but I didn’t do anything to save her,” I smiled bitterly, allowing tears to fall freely.

            My mother cautiously lifted herself up, placing a hand on my shoulder. I threw it off, making her stagger at the impact. I couldn’t let her be kind with me when I was angry, especially when I was angry at myself.

“Jessica, what are you talking about? This was a completely unexpected suicide!” she gaped.

“I’m able to tell how long people have to live, okay?! I’ve known for a while now, since she was born!” I shouted, letting it go.

“W-why didn’t you…”

“Because I don’t know why I have these abilities and they scare me!” I cried out, clutching my hair in frustration. My mother slowly approached me, handing me a piece of paper.

“The police said they found this in her dressing room. It’s for you,” my mother whispered. With a steady heart, I took the paper and made my way up the stairs to my old room, the room from my childhood.

            I locked my door and took a deep breath before opening the letter, afraid of the contents.

 

            Dear Jessica,

            By the time you read this, the numbers on my wrist will be zeroes and my world will have faded to black. But yours doesn’t need to, please stop blaming yourself. We both knew it was meant to end today, in this world, in this life.

            I had been born with the ability to see the numbers while you got yours after the car crash. So don’t worry. I had known for a while now, that I was only going to live up until now.

            I kept my power a secret because I didn’t want anyone to know it existed. I didn’t even know you knew about it until that day in my dressing room. If everyone knew they were only going to live until a certain point, wouldn’t they live their limited years in fear, or in carelessness? I didn’t want to live my life so cautiously. I wanted to have fun.

            Growing up, I never hated you because you “protected” me, but because you wouldn’t let me live like a regular human being. You thought everyone was out to screw me over, you shooed everyone away from me – even the girls who wanted to be my friend. You were allowed to have a whole lot of friends while I couldn’t even have one until I started Vogue. I just, I just thought it was so unfair.

            But you still tried to protect me… I was really happy when you said I had “forever” to live even though I only had one. You really wanted me to not worry at that moment. For that, I am grateful.

            Becoming a model and replacing you at Vogue made me realize the true nature of my death. I would have died as an anorexic, depressed, drug-addicted supermodel alongside the other dying models that were easily slipping into the size-zero jeans. I realized I’d rather kill myself than die like an emotionally-distressed girl who was trying to please society.

            In my opinion, I died in honour. I’m not regretting a single decision from the past eighteen years.

            So thank you… for everything. Thank you for being the best sister I could ever ask for.

 

            Present.

            Two years later, after the suicide, I found myself cooped up among the records and photographs laying on my desk, the bustling city of Seoul racing behind the glass window panes of my office. It was stressful for me, the media and every person I knew – they all found out about my power. People who saw me on the street had been asking me about their life-span with every chance they got; the media never gave me a rest. How people found out about my power was beyond me, I just wanted people to stop asking.

“Jessica?” Yoona came in, a box of some sort of pastry in her hands. The box was pretty with a ribbon, cream-colored glossy cardboard with wax paper filled the open box. She laid the cake on my desk, revealing a sweetly decorated red velvet cake. One thought came to my mind; Krystal.

“Why do you have this with you?” I asked, masking the sadness in my voice. It was Krystal’s birthday and I knew that.

“Your baby sister would have been twenty today, rocking the world of fashion,” Yoona smiled sadly, handing me a fork.

“Why do you always call her my baby sister?” I chuckled. “She was eighteen,”

“Well, she’ll always be your baby sister with never-ending numbers on her wrist right?” Yoona giggled. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday baby Krystal, happy birthday to you.” Yoona dug into the cake, feeding small bits into . “The press conference for your new age-renewal masks is today. I suggest you go clear up the mess with the media.”

“No matter what, people will always be bugging me about how much time they have left to live,” I groaned, putting my fork down.

“Do it anyway, for her.”

 

“Jessica! Jessica! I’m with KBS News; I’d like to know how you obtained your abilities!”

 “Ms. Jung! We’d like to interview you!”

            I ignored the calls for me as I stepped onto the stage, struggling to find my confidence.

“Eight years ago, a certain brat told me I ‘wouldn’t let her breathe’. Two years ago, the brat killed herself. She wrote me a suicide note, revealing she saw the numbers too.” I looked at the audience. Everyone was staring at me intently, hoping for more insiders on my power.

“I knew my sister only had eighteen years to live. But she said in the letter that people shouldn’t live their life in fear or carelessness, because everyone who has the freedom to do so should live their life normally. I will never tell anyone how much time they have left to live, not even for the medical purposes or for the fortune tellers. Life… you’re supposed to live life happily.”

            The people slowly put their cameras down as I brought out the skin product, but I couldn’t bring myself to introduce it.

“No matter what the future holds… You move on.”