Gemotions

The world was muted, the colors drained from everything. Even the bright blue of the sky seemed faded, a pale imitation of its former glory. A sharp rap on the door jolted Clara from her stupor. It was Mrs. Johnson, her face usually a picture of sunshine, now shadowed with a tentative question.

“Clara, dear,” she began, her voice soft, “I was thinking of planting some sunflowers this year. But my yard...it’s not quite big enough. Could I possibly use some of yours?” Clara's stomach clenched, the muscles tightening with a familiar ache.

The thought of those towering yellow blooms, reaching for the sun, was a stab of something she didn’t want to feel. She managed a small nod, her throat suddenly too tight to speak. She watched as Mrs. Johnson walked away, feeling a chill creep into her bones despite the warm day.