Gemotions

She couldn’t stand to sit still. Even the long drive had been a torment. The moment the car was parked, and the engine silenced, a frenetic energy seemed to pulse through her. She was outside, circling the house like a trapped animal. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat.

The sight of the peeling paint on the front door brought a fresh wave of agitation. It was a familiar house, a comforting house, and soon, it would be gone. She yanked the door open and stepped inside.

The smell—dust, old wood, and something indefinably her grandmother—hit her like a physical blow. She needed to do something. Anything. She started pulling open drawers, rifling through the contents of the house, like a detective searching for a clue she knew wasn’t there.