The Day I Died was two weeks ago. I know it sounds kind of weird to start a story like this, but there isn’t really another way to start this story. Anyway, I died because of my brother. He is about 17 years old, now, I think. I haven’t seen him in almost five years. But, that’s how it should be. Keith was an idiot. He stole $10,000 from a homeless shelter down the street from our house. Then, he got busted and left the country before the cops came for him. He lives in London now. Now, of course, my mother doesn’t want me talking to him. She’s always talking about how he is a bad influence. I died because the cops thought I was Keith. I was sentenced to death because apparently while Keith was in London, he kidnapped an elderly man. Let me ask you something. Are you a bad influence to your siblings? Think about that. And think about how sad and depressed your other siblings might be if you did something so stupid. Change your actions, for the better of other people.