Gemotions

The phone rang, and Maya let it go to voicemail. She already knew who it was: her mother, checking in. Maya couldn't bring herself to talk, not yet. The news about the house had created a fog around her, making it difficult to connect with reality.

She gazed at the cracks in the ceiling, each one now a possible symbol of forgotten violence. The walls themselves seemed to be closing in on her. The details of the crime, the unanswered questions, were a burden.

She walked to the window, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. She just wanted to be alone, to disappear. Even the thought of making coffee seemed like a monumental task. She felt as though she could do nothing at all.