Gemotions

Maya propped herself against the chipped paint of the front porch railing. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the familiar landscape in shades of orange and purple. She shifted her weight, the wood groaning beneath her. Nothing to do. Nothing at all.

Her gaze drifted to the wilting rose bushes her mother had painstakingly cultivated. A fly buzzed lazily around her head, and she swatted at it with a languid hand. The drone of an engine in the distance was the only sound besides the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves.

She picked at a scab on her knee, feeling a dull ache. The demolition crew would be there first thing. The thought did nothing to ignite her interest. She felt detached, observing her own movements as she pushed herself away from the railing, her feet dragging on the worn planks.

She knew she should be doing something, anything. But the prospect of sorting through boxes, of reliving memories, filled her with a profound weariness. Instead, she wandered back inside, leaving the door ajar.