Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash, reflecting the taste in her mouth. Amelia stared at the list, her mother’s spidery script a mocking reminder of joy. Her mother wanted to see the Northern Lights, learn Italian, and master pottery. Amelia’s eyelids felt heavy, her muscles like lead. She sat, hunched over the kitchen table, the list a cruel mirror. The house felt too quiet, the absence of her mother a physical presence. The ceramic mug seemed to slip from her grasp and she hastily put it down so it wouldn't shatter. She pushed herself back from the table, a sudden wave of fatigue washing over her.