Gemotions

"Well, this is it," Ben muttered, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. He surveyed the overgrown garden, weeds choking the rose bushes and the once-vibrant vegetable patch. The house loomed behind him, a weathered gray against the overcast sky. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to warm them against the chill. His sister, Clara, had already gone inside.

He remembered summers spent here, chasing butterflies and helping his grandmother tend the plants. The scent of freshly cut grass, the feeling of the sun on his skin, the laughter that filled the air. Now, the garden was a tangle of neglect, mirroring the distance that had grown between him and his memories.

He bent down, picking at a weed, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. The earth was cold and damp. He felt a profound sense of loss, a heavy weight pressing down on him. He straightened, his back aching, and pushed himself to move. The garden needed work. So did he.