Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but it did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep within her bones. The rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the relentless drumming in her chest. She stared at the moving truck across the street, its occupants laughing and unloading furniture. She imagined the excitement, the fresh start. A fresh start. The words tasted like ash. Her realtor's email, the one containing the property's history, had landed that morning. The previous owner hadn’t disclosed it: a murder, a young woman, a dark stain that still clung to the very walls.

Amelia’s apartment had been perfect. Sunny, with a large balcony. Now, she felt a heaviness, as if the apartment had suddenly constricted, the walls closing in. She felt the weight of something unknown, something terrible. She hadn’t slept well since.

A long, slow sigh escaped her lips as she put the mug down, the ceramic clinking against the countertop. She considered throwing it against the wall.