The Measure of Sorrow // Ambrose Oneshot

Exactly forty-one minutes and seventeen seconds passed since Ambrose Dempsey decided to step out onto his porch for a breath of fresh air.

Thirty-eight minutes since he noticed something sticking out from under the ragged welcome mat.

Thirty-six minutes since he realized that no matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to save everyone in his family from themselves.

The smell of stew simmering on the stove wafted past the window screen and tickled his nostrils. His wife was preparing dinner in the kitchen. Five places were set. One for him and his spouse, one for their daughter Cora, and two for his nephew, in case he and Colt decided to drop in. He knew she was also likely to pack some away to bring to Aurora for breakfast in the morning. Hospital food was generally disgusting; and Letty always liked to plan ahead. But life, he reflected, didn't care about what people thought they were going to do. Take his family for example. If they had won anything in the lottery of life, it was a penchant for losing everything at the drop of a hat.

As it currently stood, child in the hospital not included, he had buried every contemporary in his family alongside twin daughters. Two of his children had run off; one to parts unknown, though he had spotted her at a gathering of street children, and the other was last seen in the company of a Moreno.

And now, a nephew that he had already buried once had fled the district leaving only a letter to explain his absence.

The situation left Ambrose unsure of what to do. Clearly, he would have to tell his wife and one daughter what had happened, as well as let Aurora know at some point, but could the family really weather another heartbreak? He had taken Kaelens return as a sign that they could be reborn from the ashes, and indeed, the flames of his nephews ire had fanned the embers of discontent into a raging inferno.

If only for a moment suspended in time.

Ambrose struggled to understand why he had encouraged such behavior. Was it that he had been wounded so deeply by Kiera's death that he had lashed out at everything like a bear trying to protect its cubs? Or was it that Kaelen's return had sparked something long forgotten in his mind, the thought that a failed member of his family might at long last find redemption? Then again, it could have merely been a heartfelt desire to avoid having to bury yet another child. He suspected that it was all of the above.

Carefully folding and placing the letter in his jacket pocket, he let out a sigh and fixed his eyes on the setting sun. The Dempsey family was ruined, nigh destitute, standing in the ashes of people that never quite got off the ground. All they had left was each other, and even then, they were often denied that small comfort.

"I hope you find what you're looking for Kae. You can run from your problems, but they'll follow like chains until you gather the courage to take off your mask and face them."

Ambrose took in a deep breath and exhaled it into the tepid air of the summer's evening. "I just wish I could've taught that to your father. And to you. But I'm afraid I only learned that recently myself."


A lump was rising in his throat, and his tongue felt like sandpaper scraping the roof of his mouth and leaving it raw.

"Goodbye dear nephew."

His words were lost in the breeze, cavorting and whirling over each other like dandelion fluff plucked by a child content with watching the seeds spiral out of control and then out of sight. Ambrose was aware that the corners of his eyes were starting to brim with unshed tears and that his irises were blurring over, but he continued to stare at the sun setting behind the distant fence until its light had been extinguished. It struck him that yet another candle in his family had summarily snuffed out, this time permanently. I've lost a lot of family and I haven't even hit fifty yet. Are we doomed to self destruction? I suppose it may not matter. We can't choose what our family will do. I think I've learned that now. But we can choose how we react. And to ensure that the remaining time is used to fullest, I'm not going to waste another second dwelling on the past. Not going to lose another family member without making sure they know what they mean to me.

Not.

One.

More.