Gemotions

The kettle whistled, a shrill, insistent sound that grated on Clara’s nerves. She ignored it, her gaze fixed on the empty space where her vintage convertible had been parked all night. The metallic gleam of the chrome, the cherry-red paint – all gone.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to physically ward off the chill that had settled deep within her. The steam from her neglected tea cup fogged her glasses. She let them drop to the counter.

The apartment felt so big now, so empty. Each step echoed, a hollow sound against the hardwood floor. She grabbed her phone, her fingers fumbling with the screen. She wanted to call someone, anyone, but the list of contacts offered no solace. Her voice would crack, she knew it would. She just wanted the day to be over.