Gemotions

The sign in the window of Mama Rosa's was a cruel joke. "Thank you for the memories." Memories? The memories were now poisoned. Sarah’s usual cheerfulness vanished as she stared at the words. She'd been a regular for nearly twenty years.

She spat on the ground in front of the window, a small, ugly act of defiance. The world felt wrong, tilted, unbalanced. The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows, and she shivered despite the warmth of the evening. She wanted to scream. She wanted to destroy something.