"You will remember my naaaaaaaame!"

Even when she wasn't singing, those words were always playing in Ember's head. They weren't just lyrics, they were a desire, a declaration, a drive.

A drive steeming for a life she'd lived prior to her tragic death by fire. As a young teen rockstar in the 1980s, Ember (or Amber, her family-given name) had constantly been put down and scorned by adults, specifically those of her parents' generation. To them, rock music was evil and anyone who even dared to enjoy it was scum. Ember had lost count of all the times she'd been told that her passion was trash, that she'd never amount to anything, and that she needed to grow up and become a real woman.

So, in response, Ember Mclain had hated adults. She'd sworn that she'd prove them wrong and that she'd become more famous than they could ever have imagined. She'd make them, make the world, remember her name.

Even death hadn't stopped that. Now she was famous and beloved by millions of teenagers, none of whom knew that she was actually dead.

As the ghost rock star drifted through the night sky, her trusty guitar in her hands, she thought back to two particular adults: Her parents.

Truthfully, Ember couldn't remember them very well. Maybe it was because she'd spent most of her time alone, writing music and practicing on her guitar, or maybe her memories of her old life were just fading away. It had been over thirty years since she'd woken up again as a ghost after all.

Oh well, surely they couldn't have been any more appreciative of her gift. No, as far as she cared to remember, they'd been just like the others.

"Pffffff," Ember blew air from her mouth. "Adults."

She looked down at the sea of trees passing beneath her. They soon parted to reveal a suburban area. Every house was dark and there was no sign or sound of life anywhere, not the churp of a cricket. She could practically hear her own song playing aloud in her head, her own voice belting out the creed that had kept her spirit alive (literally) all these years.

It almost stunned her when she heard it outside her head.

She stopped in midair, her ears now homing in on that all-to-familiar tune that seemed to be coming from a nearby house near the end of the block. Light shined out of a single window.

Curious (or perhaps just bored), Ember floated down to the house, listening as the song grew lounder and louder. She didn't know why anyone would be playing her music at this time of night. However, she wasn't picky and was happy to consider the possibility that the culprit could in fact be a fan of hers. Arriving at the window, she peared inside at the brightly lit room.

And her eyes went huge.

Her face was everywhere. From the custom bedsheets and pillowcases on the bed to the countless posters and pictures lining the walls, to even the wool rug covering most of the floor. The various drawers and tables scattered throughout the room were lined with her memorabilia. The source of the sound turned out to be an old record player in the corner, playing to this seemingly empty room.

Now fascinated (if not also a bit creeped out), Ember went intangable and hovered inside. She looked across at the various Ember merch on the tables. There were bobble-heads, action figures, toy guitars, wigs, bracelets, and other knick-knacks that the singer herself only thought were sold at her concert venues.

This wasn't a bedroom. This was a shrine.

'But who,' the ghostly singer thought, 'could be so obsessed with me?'

There came the creak of a doorframe. Ember spun around, her ponytail blazing with fire and her guitar up and ready to attack.

But she didn't.

Standing in the doorway was an old couple, probably in their late 60s to early 70s. The man was thin, tall, and had greying dark hair. The woman (whom Ember assumed was the gester's wife) was shorter, thin, and had a round face with brown hair that was rapidly turning grey and a pair of eyeglasses perched on her nose. She had a face full of wrinkles and two very sad-looking green eyes.

Ember slowly lowered her guitar. Her angry scowl melted away and her flaming hair simmered and died, the sight of which (let alone her presence) did not faze the two people in front of her. Indeed, their faces bore neither looks of shock or fear at the sight of their intruder. No, they both were just… sad.

Ember looked deeper into the woman's face in particular. Her green eyes were both bright and dim, like the embers of a dying bonfire. Her greying hair went down past her shoulders, but still looked long enough to where it could have been wrapped up into a… ponytail.

Ember felt a sudden chill run down her body, as if she'd been struck by an icy bolt of lightning. A single, light blue tear streaked down her cheek as her purple lips unpressed to form two very distant, very rarely spoken words.

"Mom? Dad?"

The woman's pupils grew larger and her lips twitched. As the song on the record player faded in it's final notes, she opened her mouth and spoke.

"We never forgot."

Something sparked alive inside Ember. Something that filled her with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. It was as if the entire world had stopped and begun chanting her name in one, loud voice. She didn't feel cold and isolated and alone, as she had for so long in both life and death.

She felt… warm and tender.

Tears now falling down her face, Ember stepped forward, her arms rising to meet the embrace of her parents with her own. As their arms interlocked and Ember felt her head rest on her mother's soft silk nightgown, a new

thought crossed her mind. Maybe she didn't hate all adults.

THE END