Live Broadcast From The Underworld

Two years have passed since my death.

Now, my old roommate, Jessica, stands on a grand stage, accepting the "Annual Community Contributor" award.

Millions across the nation are watching her flawless smile, her humble nod—a true paragon of virtue.

Then, a catastrophic glitch.

My old laptop’s desktop, with a candid photo of my stepbrother Michael, flickers onto the massive screen behind her.

Michael, in the front row, snarls loud enough for every microphone to catch it, “What is that dead girl’s junk doing here? So damn disrespectful!”

The live chat goes wild, demanding this "trash" be removed, calling me sick, a psycho, forever "bad news."

The host, David, clicks open my "Sarah's Private Posts" folder, exposing my innermost thoughts, my hidden struggles, one excruciating entry at a time.