Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, quivered slightly in Eleanor’s trembling hand. CONDOS. It was plastered on the lobby door, mocking her with its official typeface. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a physical manifestation of her unease.

Her knuckles were white as she clutched the paper. The familiar scent of old books and dust that usually comforted her in the building’s hallway now seemed to press in on her, suffocating. She needed air.

She rushed back to her apartment, fumbling with the keys. The worn doorknob resisted her haste. Finally inside, she slammed the door shut, as if she could barricade herself against the news. Her breath hitched.