Ember awoke the next morning feeling incredibly strange. She remembered the night before with clarity and couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. She pulled herself out of bed, groaning as she did so, before stretching her arms above her head and bending backwards, hearing the crack of her back and shoulders. Damn bed making her so stiff.

“Morning, mama,” Ember greeted as she stepped out of her room, seeing her mother sitting on the couch with a trashy magazine and a cigarette between her fingers.

Joan glanced up from the magazine as she acknowledged her daughter. “Not hardly morning anymore. Two in the afternoon, sleepyhead.”

“Just woke up, so it's morning to me.”

She stepped into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then back to the living room and plopping down on the couch next to her mom.

“Last night was weird, ma.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. His life… it was so weird. Gold and silver and blue rather than just gold. And so organized. It moved in this double helix. And the intensity! I haven’t felt like that since I was little girl!”

The coffee pot stopped making noise, so Ember went and pulled it off, loading up her favorite mug with it, before jumping in tons of creamer and an unholy amount of sugar. She wasn’t a fan of the taste, but lord some mornings she needed a cup.

“Who was he, ma?” Ember sat down the couch. “Please, I want to know. I need to know who, or what, he was.”

“Thomas McCarthy, sweetie. I already told you.”

“Yeah, that’s his name. But who was he.”

Joan sighed and looked at Ember. “Well, I suppose it’s about time you hear the story. You’re old enough now.

“See, when I was sixteen, I was stupid, November. I went to highschool like a normal girl, had a mother that was devoutly catholic, no father—”

“Yes, yes, I know all this,” Ember interrupted.

“Watch your tone with me, young lady.” A smack was delivered to the back of Ember’s head.

“Ow!”

“You deserved it. Now, let me continue. Anyway, despite my mother’s warnings, I began seeing a boy. He was seventeen years old, very handsome. I thought it was love. Well, I learned pretty quickly love doesn’t exist not to men. Only lust. He just wanted me for my body—”

“Ew, mother. I do not want to hear about you fucking.”

Joan gave her daughter a warning glance. “As I was saying, I thought it was love. So, long story short I got pregnant. When I told him, though, he ran. He told me he was seeing another woman, to whom he got married to, had two kids, then divorced. I was the other woman. See, if you’re ever with a man, there will always be another woman. And, if there’s not, you’re the other woman. Nine months later, you came into the world, I dropped out of school, moved away from home, and you know the rest.”

“Okay, soo? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“That man was David McCarthy.”

Ember looked at her mother. “Wh-what?”

“David McCarthy. The man we killed yesterday. He was your father.”

The world was spinning to Ember. Everything was turning, her head felt like it was floating above her body and she felt absolutely sickened. “No,” she whispered, dropping her mug of coffee and ignoring the way the hot liquid burned against her skin. “No, no, no, no, no.”

She ran to the bathroom and promptly puked, riding her body of all contents.

“November, sweetie?” Joan followed her daughter into the bathroom, watching her dry heave into the toilet, coughing and spluttering as bile and the remains of the little food that was on her stomach got caught in her wild mane of hair and all over her chin. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?!” November screamed between heaves. “I murdered my father! Oh my god, I killed my father. I took his life. I literally took his life. Oh my god. Oh, fuck.”

“You're overreacting.” Joan calmly walked into the room and laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder, who continued hovering over the white porcelain toilet. She reached over Ember's shoulders and gathered her daughter’s curls, holding them in a loose grip as her daughter continued to dry heave. “You've killed other fathers without a problem. The fact that he's yours should make no difference. He's still a man.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shhh, calm down sweetie.” Joan ran her hands lovingly over her daughter’s hair, scooping it backwards and giving her what comfort she could. “You did good.”

‘This much be what guilt feels like,’ Ember thought. She didn't like it. The sick to your stomach feeling or the way it tugged at her heart until she thought it would burst out of her chest.

“Mama, mama,” she cried, “it hurts. I don't like it. How do I make it stop? Please, it hurts so bad.”

“What hurts, baby? Don't want you to be hurting.”

“Everything! My stomach, my head, my ears, my heart. I can't hardly hear above whatever's going on in my head. Sounds like when you put a shell to your ear. And my heartbeat! Oh my god, I can feel it. But not my toes and fingers. They're tingling and numb. How do I mean it stop?”

“You have to realize you did nothing wrong—“

“I killed my father! My own flesh and blood and I killed him!”

“You didn't care before now.”

“I didn't know.”

“What difference does knowing make?”

“He's my daddy...”

The strike to the back of Ember's head almost sent her face firsrt tumbling into the bowl, but she caught herself in time. “Do not call him that. Do you understand?”

Ember just groaned and heaved more.

“Do you fucking understand me?! He's not your goddamned 'daddy.' At most, he's a father. A sperm donor. Regardless, though, he was still a man.”

At the words and harshness, Ember realized what needed to happen to assage her guilt. She knew what she needed to do. Something that occasionally popped up in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away, far away, before she ever even considered acting on it. But now, it was time to bring that fleeting fantasy to reality.

With the epiphany came a comforting calmness. A numb feeling that came with having a purpose. She straightened up, wiped her mouth, and shut her eyes for just a moment, before speaking again.

“Yes ma'am. He was nothing.”

“Good girl, are you done?” Joan asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Ember nodded and Joan helped her stand. She placed her hands on the sides of Ember's face. “Tsk. You're all splotchy and red and puffy, darling. Though, I suppose you never were a pretty crier. Shower, clean yourself up and all.”

Ember sighed, happy for the privacy, before stripping down and stepping into the steaming hot shower as she mulled over her decision.

'Well,' she figured, 'I've already committed patricide. Matricide shouldn't damn me too much more.'681Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWJMbo9wf91