Page 3 of Penance

It was too fucking much.

Turning, I grabbed the noose off the nearby work bench and stretched it between my hands, feeling the weight of it dangling from my fingers.

“There is no God,” I told him. “Not anymore. No one is coming to save you.”

Chapter 1

Mercy

It’s hot in here.

It’s so hot in this house, and I don’t know why.

I swallow hard, my head swimming and my stomach churning.

The sunlight is streaming in through the window, specks of dust swimming through the light and floating towards the floor. I focus on them to give myself something to hold on to—something to keep me distracted from the churning in my belly.

I hear a loud bang and jump, turning in my seat to look over at Mother, standing at the kitchen counter in her housedress. Her hair, once the same dark auburn as mine, but now more grey than anything, is pinned up properly and perfectly as it always was. One of the heels on her shoe is crooked, like it’s fixin’ to break.

I wonder if she knows.

Sitting beside me, Dad clears his throat and shakes out the newspaper, his beady little eyes flicking over to me as I right myself in my seat and try to give him a smile.

Try and fail.

I swallow hard.

It feels like something is crawling up my throat, and I’m fighting to keep it down.

Why did I feel so… sick?

“You okay, pumpkin?” he asks, folding the paper once and slapping it down on the table. “You’ve been jumpy all morning.”

“Fine,” I say, gulping.

I can’t tell them.

I think my apartment is haunted… or something. Things keep getting moved, and I can feel something watching me.

I can’t tell them that.

My mouth is watering.

I can feel bile sloshing in my throat and sweat standing out on my forehead.

I am not fine, but I can’t let them see that.

“You sure?” he asked. “You look a little green.”

Just as I open my mouth to speak, Mother walks over to us, a steaming pot of her town-famous Sunday Stew, still bubbling as she sets it down on the table in front of us.

“Alright!” she says cheerfully. “Dig in!”

I can smell it.

I can smell the beef, and it makes my stomach flip.

The room spins as I fight to stand up out of my chair. My stomach heaves, and I gag, hard. Saliva floods my mouth, and I fight to swallow it back when my stomach clenches again.

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