Gemotions

The thermostat read 78 degrees, but Clara felt a bone-chilling cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill that seemed to emanate from within. The apartment, usually bustling with activity, had become a tomb.

The movers were coming tomorrow. Her best friend, Ava, would be gone. Across the country. The knowledge felt like a weight, pressing down on her chest, stealing her breath. She picked at the chipped paint on the windowsill, the action mindless, repetitive.

She glanced at the empty space on the bookshelf where Ava's favourite novels had sat. Empty. A profound emptiness seemed to fill the room, a void mirroring the emptiness in her own soul.