I have to kill her.

It’s not my choice, it’s the law. But the law doesn’t say I can’t die with her.

Since the day we were born as identical twins, I knew I would have to kill my sister on our 18th birthday, it’s just how it was, how it always had been. Being born an identical twin was simply against the law, because no two people could be exactly alike, according to the Regime that the Grand Mayorda had instated years ago.

Regretfully, I was born two minutes before Eilya. The older twin became a murderer; older and wiser they said. More mature, more emotionally stable they said.

But my sister is apart of me like no other. She knows me, the real me, to the depths of my core. If she dies, a part of me will die to. And honestly, if that part of me died, I think I’d kill myself anyway.

Eilya takes a deep shakey breath. We spent the whole day doing everything we love, visiting treasured places and pigging out on the foods of our dreams. Nothing was too expensive or impractical.

I see the fear in her eyes, the reproachfulness and the hesitation.

“Amila, I’m scared. I don’t want to die,” she whispers, tears streaming down her olive toned cheeks.

Matching tears roll down my face, making us identical as ever. But if I don’t kill her, the government will shoot her themselves and we always promised each other we’d die on our own terms.

I look out over the cliff edge. The trees are beautiful and green as the orange-pink-yellow-gorgeous sun dips slowly out of view, marking the end of our 18th birthday. Marking the start of our death.

“I love you,” I tell my sister, the other part of me.

“I love you too,” she says, looking at me with so much love her eyes can barely hold it all.

I grab my sisters hand and pull her towards the cliff edge with me. She nods slowly in my direction.

Then we jump.