Yenene: I walk into my brother’s room and gasp at the items laid out on his bed. Laid out there were a noose, a knife, a note and an unlabeled bottle of pills. I heard his footsteps in the hall and ducked under his bed. I see him walk in and swallow the pills. He then pins the note to his chest, stands on a chair, puts his neck in the noose, and jumps. In his last seconds of struggling, he attempts to cut his wrists. Until then I had been too stunned to move. But at that moment, I jumped out from under the bed, grabbed the knife out of his hand, and cut the noose off of his neck. Over the years proceeding, I was famous. The local news and even famous shows like Good Morning America and Dr. Phil, covered my… er our story. Three years later I again saved him. I wrote a book after that, and on the day it got published my brother almost died of a drug overdose. Now he lives in a treatment facility, and I live in mansion, making money selling my… uh our story to talk shows and writing books about his suicide attempts. I hope he tries again soon, my book royalties are down, and I need to write another. I mean, I had to sell one of my Ferraris! Maybe if I could get him to my house, and leave out the necessary items… hmm, yes, that could work. I will retain my fame, even if that means the untimely death of my brother. Yes, fame will be mine.

Zador: I walk up to my room and shut the door. I do a careful count of my supplies and sigh. Why am I doing this? Oh! That’s right, my perfect sister! She is so much better than everyone. I swallow the pills, pin my note to my chest, stand on my chair, and kick out my feet. Swinging there, I recall what my note reads, “Dear mom and dad, I can no longer stand to be the inferior twin, so I have killed myself. You can thank my sister. Your son, Zador.” I start to cut my wrists, when my ever-annoying sister grabs the knife and cuts me free. Over the next few years, I got worse, while she got famous through my depression. She was on Good Morning America and we were on Dr. Phil, though he kept talking about the emotional strain on her. What about me? She put on a good act though. She kept clutching my arm and sobbing, and talking about how she misses who I used to be. Yeah right. Three years after that she again ruined my death. I almost succeeded after that on the day she was going to expose me to the ridicule of the world through her book, Unintentional Hero. After that failure, she used her riches to send me to a treatment facility, while she lives in a mansion, making money off of her book and her talk show appearances. She has asked me to visit, but I refuse. Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly, yes, come down and visit me sister. I have changed. In a way I think good. I am, ah, unstable, as the nurses call it. But I have a surprise. A one way ticket to others of you own kind. A one way ticket to HELL! MWAHAHAHA!