Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the pristine lawn. Amelia stood frozen on the porch, her hand still reaching for the doorknob. The empty space where her cherry-red convertible usually sat felt like a vacant socket, a dark hole staring back at her. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat like a shard of glass. She started to tremble, a fine vibration that worked its way from her fingertips to her toes. "No," she whispered, the sound barely audible above the chirping of crickets. The silence of the cul-de-sac amplified the hollow echo in her chest.