Gemotions

The oak, a colossal green beast, now lay supine across Mrs. Gable’s meticulously manicured lawn, its roots a horrifying display. Amelia stared, arms crossed, the chill of the October wind biting through her thin sweater. She couldn't feel the cold. Her gaze flickered to her own overgrown garden, a riot of weeds and forgotten vegetables. Another chore added to a list that never seemed to diminish.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Gable chirped, her voice thin and reedy. "Such a shame. And right on my prize-winning roses." Amelia simply nodded, her jaw tight. The scent of pine and crushed earth filled the air, a scent that normally soothed, but today felt heavy, suffocating.

She'd promised herself she'd start that painting project. She’d even bought the supplies. They still sat in the corner of the living room, untouched. The silence in her own house called her name. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. The need to move, to DO something, overwhelmed her.