Gemotions

The air tasted like rust and regret. Sarah stood at the edge of the property, a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. She'd told her siblings she was coming for a "last look." She'd really come for something else.

Her hand, as if of its own accord, reached into the bag and pulled out a can of bright red spray paint. She walked toward the front of the house, where the plywood was covering the windows, and began to write, in angry, sloppy letters: "You shouldn't have."

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.