Gemotions

The old woman next door had always been a font of local gossip. Now, the woman was practically buzzing with it. "Oh, you just *have* to hear this, dear. Your house, you know, the one with the lovely garden?" Sarah barely acknowledged her, pretending to prune roses.

The woman’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Murder, honey. Right there in your dining room! Poor Mrs. Henderson, gone like that.” Sarah’s knuckles were white around the shears. The garden, her pride and joy, felt suddenly insignificant.

All her efforts, all her striving for a peaceful, well-ordered existence, now seemed… flat. Her neighbour, on the other hand, had a narrative. A past. Sarah wanted to scream.