Gemotions

The stench hit her first. A cloying mix of mildew and something else, something she couldn't quite place, but which made her stomach churn. Her hand, gloved and hesitant, brushed against the peeling paint of the front door. It felt slick, almost oily. A shudder ran through her, and she immediately retracted her hand, wiping it furiously on her jeans. “Just…get it over with,” she muttered, her voice tight and unfamiliar.

She kicked at a loose brick on the porch steps, sending it skittering across the cracked concrete. The overgrown weeds, thick and choked, clawed at her ankles. They were like grasping fingers, and she felt a prickle of revulsion at the thought of brushing against them. This place. This…wreck.

The memories, the ones she had carefully walled off for years, began to seep in. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to erase every single thing that reminded her of…this.