Gemotions

Sarah slumped onto the porch swing, the wood cold against her legs. A tremor ran through her, leaving a chill in its wake. She’d come seeking solace, needing to remember. The swing creaked rhythmically, a mocking imitation of peace. The empty space where the willow tree, her sister and she had planted, once thrived, was a gaping wound.

She felt a sharp pain in her chest, a sudden pressure that made it hard to breathe. The wind rustled the leaves of the remaining trees, whispering secrets she didn’t want to hear. Her fingers clenched, nails digging into her palms.

“They didn’t even tell me,” she muttered, the words barely audible. The silence that followed was deafening.