Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight on Amelia's exposed skin. She sat on her porch swing, the rhythmic creak doing nothing to soothe the hollowness inside. Next door, the hammering began. *Another day,* she thought, the words echoing the emptiness that had become her constant companion. She took a sip of cold coffee, the taste of it metallic and unappealing. She hadn't bothered to dress, just pulling on the first thing she found. Her gaze drifted to the untended garden, weeds sprouting with an energy she couldn’t muster.

The rhythmic thudding of the hammer was a brutal counterpoint to the quiet devastation that had become her morning routine. She pushed herself up from the swing, the wood groaning in protest. There was a faint ache in her chest, a physical manifestation of the heavy air she carried. She walked inside, the silence of her home pressing in around her.