Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, thrummed in Clara’s hand. Her breath hitched. She scanned the bold, black lettering again, her pulse picking up. She gripped the edge of the paper, knuckles bone-white. The linoleum in the hallway seemed to press up against her soles.

Clara moved quickly, the hallway blurring past her. She practically sprinted back into her apartment, slamming the door. The sound echoed. Her gaze darted around the familiar space, cataloging details: the chipped paint, the worn rug, the way the sunlight hit the dust motes dancing in the air.

She picked up the phone, fingers fumbling with the numbers. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, about this. The dial tone buzzed in her ear, an annoying, high-pitched whine. Each passing second intensified the feeling of something pressing down on her chest.