Gemotions

Her stomach was doing flip-flops. She sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, trying to appear calm, but her hands were clasped so tightly they ached. Her brother, once so grounded and practical, had declared his intention to embrace Rastafarianism. She felt as though the world had tilted on its axis.

She glanced around the room, as though searching for an anchor, a familiar landmark. Everything seemed distorted. The details of the room swam before her eyes.

She forced a smile, the muscles in her face feeling tight and unyielding. The silence was unbearable. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to break free, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. She felt a profound sense of… disquiet… she had never felt before.

“But… your hair!” she burst out, the words escaping before she could stop them, revealing the depths of her unease.