Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Amelia poured the bitter liquid down the sink, the metallic tang of plumbing assaulting her nostrils. She’d meticulously arranged the furniture, chosen the paint colors, attempted to create a calm space. The realtor had been so charming, so insistent that the house was a "diamond in the rough." Now, the news. The whispers. The incessant feeling that unseen eyes were watching her every move. She clenched her jaw. The historical records arrived and with them, the past.