Gemotions

The doorbell's chime had seemed accusatory, a harsh sound in the quiet house. A small parcel sat on the porch, addressed to "Ms. Eleanor Blackwood." Her predecessor. She brought it inside, not out of any sense of duty, but because she couldn't leave it there, exposed.

Inside, she found a framed photograph – a smiling woman with a dog. She looked at it for a long while, the empty space around her aching with absence. Her own dog, Daisy, was gone now. She didn’t know how to fill the gaps in the world.

She poured a glass of wine, the first of many tonight, the red liquid the colour of everything she felt. The world was a cold, lonely place now.