Gemotions

"Well, this is just great," Clara muttered under her breath, kicking at a loose piece of flagstone on the overgrown path leading to the front door. The sun, usually a welcome companion, beat down mercilessly, making her feel sluggish and irritated. She hadn't wanted to come. Her brother, Mark, seemed positively gleeful, snapping photos and making plans for renovations.

Inside, the house smelled of mothballs and forgotten memories. Clara ran a hand over the dust-covered furniture, a knot forming in her stomach. She felt a growing sense of detachment, as if she were watching a play she didn't want to be in. The chipped teacup on the mantelpiece, her grandmother’s favorite, seemed to mock her.

"What are you thinking about doing with the garden?" Mark asked, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. Clara shrugged, avoiding his gaze. She didn't want to think about anything. She wanted to disappear.