Gemotions

The chipped paint on the picket fence seemed to mock her. The escape artist was at it again, a fluffy white cloud that belonged to the people next door, now happily sniffing her prize-winning petunias. She watched the dog's antics, feeling disconnected, a spectator to her own life. A hollowness echoed inside her, an empty chamber.

She had baked a pie this morning, a lemon meringue. The aroma had filled the kitchen, but even the sweet scent hadn't filled her. She'd left it on the counter, untouched. She felt as though she’d lost her taste for everything.

She slowly began to walk towards the fence, her hands in her pockets, kicking a small stone along the way. She felt nothing.