Gemotions

The porch light flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the lawn. From the kitchen window, Sarah watched the fluffy white shape of Snowball bound towards the rose bushes. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat she could feel in her throat. She gripped the edge of the countertop, knuckles white.

"Not again," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The dog, oblivious, was now enthusiastically sniffing around the hydrangeas. Sarah’s breath hitched. She imagined its sharp teeth, the way it barked with what seemed like pure, unadulterated joy. She couldn't move, rooted to the spot, feeling a cold dread seep into her bones.