Gemotions

"Lovely, isn't it?" Mrs. Gable, the neighbor, had gushed. Sarah stared at the crimson bougainvillea crawling across the porch, suddenly grotesque. The previous owners, a young couple, had met a violent end here. It felt impossible to breathe, like something heavy was blocking her chest. She grabbed her gardening gloves and attacked the weeds with unusual ferocity, yanking them out by the roots, a desperate need for some kind of cleansing. Each tug echoed the report's details: a fight, a scream, the finality of silence.