Gemotions

"Ugh," Clara muttered, pushing a plate of untouched pasta away. The dining room felt cavernous and echoing now that all the furniture had been moved out. The scent of fresh paint was the only noticeable thing in the house that had changed. Tomorrow was the day.

She stared out the window at the empty street. She'd walked the perimeter of the house twice, searching for something, anything, to distract her. She felt a vague dissatisfaction, a feeling of being adrift.

Her fingers tapped the table's surface. She found herself fiddling with her necklace, its cold metal a familiar anchor. Then, she stood, aimlessly drifting to the front door.

She stepped out onto the porch, the silence amplifying the absence within her. She kicked a loose stone, watching it tumble down the slight embankment. She wanted to move. But where to?