Gemotions

The tomatoes hung heavy on the vine, a splash of red against the weary green. Amelia had planted them with such optimism. Now, they were a chore, like everything else. The rhythmic thwack of the runaway beagle’s tail against the fence barely registered. Again. She dragged herself out, the morning sun already a burning indictment.

She sighed, a sound that felt like it came from her very bones. This time, the dog, a scruffy terrier mix, had unearthed her prize-winning rose bush. Its roots were now exposed, dirt clinging to them like a final, desperate embrace. Amelia just stood there, watching the chaos.

“Hello?” a cheerful voice called from the other side. Mrs. Henderson, the owner. Amelia didn't even bother responding. The fight felt gone. She just wanted it to stop.