The Curse

My family has a curse. On every generation, a woman dies.

When my older sister turned 19, my parents started looking at me with the deepest pity and grief I have ever seen; like I was going to crumble and disappear at any moment.

I was 16 and listening to music in my bedroom when my mother came to me with a beautiful portrait in her hands. It was of my great-grandmother Eleanor.

"Do you remember her, honey?"

I looked at the old woman in the picture. "Yes, mom." Eleanor had died two years ago, after reaching the ripe old age of 98. There were no health problems in our family and everybody just lived for a ridiculously long time.

"Well, I have to tell you something. In approximately 82 years, granted you live an active lifestyle and don't smoke, you will die too." Her face looked grief-stricken as she said it. "All women in our family die at some point."

"I know, mom. We're mortal, it's a natural part of life," I nodded. "I mean, I was half expecting you to tell me I would die early due to some shitty and semi-obscure Bible reference."

"Like what, a deal with Lilith?"

We both looked at each other for a few seconds and then started laughing hysterically.

"That would be fucking ridiculous!" I yelled out as tears started streaming down my face.

Five minutes later, mom let out a final chuckle. "Ok honey, just wanted to tell you dinner's in five."

"Thanks, mom." I finished listening to my song and went downstairs. I tripped, fell down and smacked into the book shelf. My arms were instantly broken and as I feebly tried to push myself up, I was hit in the head by a bible and died immediately.

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Original author unknown

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