Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to pierce Amelia's eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. The tattoo parlour's garish lights intensified the already pounding rhythm in her skull. The woman's back was turned, but Amelia knew. She recognized the delicate rendering of the wildflowers, the ones that bloomed every spring at the edge of the lake where she had scattered her husband's ashes.

Her legs felt like lead, and she couldn't tear her gaze away. Each meticulous line, a fresh wound. She felt a burning sensation in her eyes, but she refused to let the tears fall. It was all a parody now, an ugly reminder of the beauty she had lost.

She backed away, her movements jerky and robotic. The air in the parlour became thin, suffocating. She stumbled out into the street, the scent of exhaust fumes somehow more bearable than the memory of that tattoo.