The clash
After the funeral, we were left alone next to one of the stone columns of the cemetery. The wind blew my veil, the rain sticking my hair to my face.
“Tough day, huh?” my father said, hugging me. “But from here on out, it’ll be better.” There is a legacy left. We’ll start fresh.
His touch, which had brought me comfort before, was now causing me physical disgust.
I inhaled. Two scents were mixed in my memory – its cheap aftershave water and the smell of laboratory burning, ozone and melted plastic.
“Dad…” I whispered.
“Yes, dear?”
Do you remember that night in the lab?
I felt his body freeze.
“What… what are you saying?”
I leaned over to his ear so that no one else could hear:
It smelled like ozone. On smoke. It was so hot that the glass was bursting on its own. He pressed the lock button outside and heard her screaming your name before it exploded the core of the reactor.
