Gemotions

The smell hit her first, the damp earth and decaying wood. It was a familiar scent, one that usually brought comfort. But not today. It was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest. Clara leaned against the rusted gate, her breath shallow.

She'd been meticulously packing boxes for weeks, each item a small wound reopened. Memories, both good and bad, played on a constant loop in her mind.

A lone robin chirped from the branch of an ancient oak tree, seemingly oblivious to the impending doom. She felt a sharp pang of envy for its simple existence.