Gemotions

Grandma's locket. That's what it was, a swirling gold heart, filled with tiny, painted roses. Eleanor traced the delicate carvings on the mahogany table, her fingertip tapping a frantic rhythm. Her breath hitched. The auction was tomorrow. She could feel a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Her mother, wanting to sell it, had said it was "time." Time for what? Time to abandon the past, to sever the last threads of connection to a history Eleanor felt she was barely holding onto.

She pushed her chair back, the scrape of the legs echoing in the hushed living room. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly, each second a hammer blow against her skull. She needed air. Standing, she walked towards the window, the ornate, heavy curtains swaying slightly in the breeze.

She looked at the garden, her gaze unable to settle on any one thing. She felt a need to take flight. Her chest felt constricted, as if it was being compressed.