Gemotions

The morning air smelled of freshly cut grass and impending doom. Amelia, usually a picture of composure, found herself pacing the length of her front lawn. The space where her vintage Mustang, her pride and joy, belonged was conspicuously vacant. Her hands were clammy, and she ran a hand through her hair, tangling the strands.

The pit in her stomach deepened with each passing second. She felt a wave of nausea. Had she parked wrong? Had someone vandalized it? She couldn't remember. The possibilities swirled in her head, each one more unsettling than the last. She tried to think rationally, but her thoughts seemed to be skipping and stuttering.

She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of fear. She needed to know what had happened. She needed answers, and she needed them now. The world felt muffled, as if she were underwater.