Gemotions

The crimson roses sat on the kitchen table, a splash of colour against the dull beige. No note. Her hand tightened on the stem of one, the thorns pricking her skin. She had been tasked with a mission, a small one, but it still felt important. The neighbour's cat, Mittens, had been trapped in the shed for a full day. Now, with the flowers scenting the stale air, she knew what she had to do.

Her boots crunched on the gravel as she approached the shed. The sun beat down, turning the metal door almost too hot to touch. She pushed, and the hinges groaned, sending a shiver of dread down her spine. The task, rescuing a frightened cat, felt insignificant in the face of the unknown.

Inside, in the near-darkness, she saw it. Mittens, eyes wide, a tiny, trembling ball of fur. She knelt, her voice a low murmur, promising safety. Slowly, she reached, her fingers brushing the soft fur. She would not back down, not now. She would have to go in there.