[h2][color=lightpink]Sherry Birkin[/color][/h2][hr]Sherry took the photo into her hands. There was no need to closely examine it; with a single glance it was all over, her brain imitating the blue screen of death moment she had become so familiar with in her youth. The photo trembled in her hands as she stared blankly at it, her ears rushing as the tidal wave that was her childhood was brought to the surface.

[i]That is Father.[/i]

Yes, he was, but he couldn’t be. Her father had mutated beyond recognition and [i]died[/i]. Maybe this was a photo from back then, it wasn’t like she saw him much anyways- but it couldn’t be, because the photos she had from back then were seared into her memory and he did not look like that. Nor was he prone to any kind of affection, so consumed was he by his work.

She pushed down the rage that suddenly bubbled up at the thought that her father had had another family, one that he spent time with, while she had to beg him for acknowledgment of her existence. It wasn’t real. It was a twin, a clone, something, but it was not [i]her[/i] father.

Then the nausea hit and she turned to face the ground, legs splayed awkwardly to the other side. She tried to breathe through it, willing the contents of her stomach to stay down, but it was no use; she gagged and coughed until there was nothing left and even then was still left gasping. It took everything in her to stay upright but she did, and she almost laughed because it was a good thing she hadn’t eaten more and that was such a strange thought to cross her mind at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, only vaguely cognizant that she was speaking.