My name is Violet Sea. I was born in my parents' basement in the middle of a hurricane. One of the waves was so high that it swept onto our balcony and stole my mother's purple scarf on the lawn chair. This is why they called me Violet. I guess you could say I was named after a scarf.

Throughout my entire life, I've always asked the same question: Where do we go when we die? I've heard a number of different answers, some that make sense, and some that don't. The one that I've come to believe the most is my Aunt Ruthie's. She told me that when we die, nothing happens. We just shut off. Our souls don't float up into heaven and live happily ever after, or we don't go to hell. We just stop breathing. Simple as that.

I hate to think about dying—about what it would feel like, or how it would happen. My father died after being stuck in an elavator for 5 days without food or water when I was three. My older brother Chale died after being hit by a baseball at a Yankee's game. My dog, the only pet I've ever had, died after being run over by a garbage truck.

You might say there's been a lot of tradgety in my family. That's what everybody tells me. All of my friends say that I was born under an unlucky star, that I must be so unhappy. I disagree. Although I'd love to spend another day with my father, brother and dog, I've accepted the fact that I'll never see them again in my life.

Or maybe I will, if I go to heaven.