Terese took the parcel from the postman, and felt her face drain of blood as she recognised the red string flipping at the edges in the light breeze of her front porch. The same string that her mother had told her to tie up just a week ago.
You have to tie the parcel with string yourself, so I know that you can open it.
Terese had felt suspicion creep over her at the time but had been too scared to ask. She realised at thirteen what many others only discovered at old age: when time is short with a person, not a second should be wasted talking of the future. Her trembling hand opened the parcel, the string trailing over the wooden floor as a blood red warning of the contents. A wad of money thudded onto the floor, but Terese ignored it as she opened the note.
My dearest Terese,
If you have received this parcel by post then I regret to say I am dead. You must not mourn for me my darling, but instead take as many clothes and necessities as you can fit into your backpack and go to the address given.
Godspeed my darling.