Gemotions

The flickering neon sign outside the diner cast an anemic glow on Clara’s face, washing the color from her skin. The greasy smell of the air, usually comforting, was now cloying. She picked at the chipped paint on the tabletop, tracing the outline of a faded heart. Her appetite had vanished along with the sun, replaced by a constant, gnawing emptiness. A text: “Hey, is Mark around? He said he was with you last night.” Clara’s breath caught. She felt a strange tingling in her fingertips.