Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee did nothing to invigorate Henry. He sat at the kitchen table, watching his sister, Martha, sort through their mother’s belongings. The antique painting, her mother's favorite, leaned against the wall.

"Honestly, Henry," Martha said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. "We can't keep everything." Her words seemed to reverberate through the air.

He stared at the painting, the colors muted, the brushstrokes soft. He felt the weight of the moment, the pressure of her intentions. He just wanted to remain still, to exist in the quiet of the room. The thought of the painting gone was a sharp pang.