Gemotions

Sarah slumped onto the dusty porch step, the wood groaning beneath her weight. The afternoon sun beat down, but she felt a bone-deep cold. Her shoulders sagged, and the weight of the world pressed on her. She hadn't eaten properly in days, each meal a chore. The thought of sorting through her childhood belongings, the memories, felt like an insurmountable task.

The air hung thick with the scent of decay – dry leaves, rotting wood, the faint musk of something long gone. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure the energy to get up, to do something, anything. The rhythmic thud of the distant construction equipment seemed to mock her inertia.

"Just…one…more…minute," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, a plea to herself, and to the ghosts of the house itself. She wanted to sleep, to escape the crushing disappointment that clung to her like a second skin.