Gemotions

The car ride back had been silent, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers across the windshield. Now, Sarah sat on the porch swing, the wood cold beneath her hands, watching the twilight bleed across the sky. The house, her grandmother’s house, stood silent and imposing behind her.

Her brother, Ben, was inside, rifling through boxes and humming a tuneless melody. The sound grated on her nerves. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words wouldn't come. They just choked in her throat.

She took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The grief, she realized, wasn’t a sharp pain anymore, but a dull, pervasive throb, a constant companion that settled deep within her chest.