Gemotions

The constant movement next door, the buzz of the saws, and the shouts of the workers, were a jarring contrast to the stillness inside her house. Her neighbor, Mr. Harrison, was rebuilding his fence. It had been three months since her son, Sam, had left for the army. The world felt muted, lacking color.

She sat on the front porch swing, the familiar creak a somber counterpoint to the construction noise. The swing, once a source of comfort, now felt heavy, its gentle rhythm a parody of her internal state. She remembered teaching Sam to swing.

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure his face, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. The hammering continued, a steady beat that echoed the hollow feeling in her chest.