Gemotions

The photograph lay on the counter, face up. A picture of her, taken on graduation day. Ms. Alvarez remembered it well; she remembered the joy on her face. But the photograph was different. Someone had been cut out. A figure. She didn't know who.

She picked it up, her fingers tracing the faded edges. The air felt thick, heavy. She knew every student in that class, knew all their faces. She did not know who was no longer in this photo.

She went to her kitchen window and looked outside. The sun was setting, casting long, distorted shadows across the lawn. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the unsettling mystery.