Gemotions

The weeds in Amelia’s garden seemed to have sprung up overnight. She kicked at a particularly aggressive dandelion, its yellow head already gone to seed, ready to spread its misery. The dog, a golden retriever named Buster, was at it again, digging under the fence. His tail thumped a lazy rhythm against the damp earth.

Amelia sighed, the sound brittle in the morning air. She hated this. Hated the dog, hated the muddy paw prints on her newly cleaned patio, hated the cheerful wave from Mrs. Henderson next door. Buster barked, a joyous sound that only deepened the ache in Amelia’s chest.

She went inside, slamming the screen door. The lukewarm coffee tasted like ash. This day was going to be dreadful.