Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, clung to the chipped paint of the hallway bulletin board. Sarah kept her gaze fixed on her worn sneakers, carefully avoiding the eyes of Mrs. Gable, who was peering at it with a magnifying glass. The other tenants were gathering, murmuring. Sarah felt a heat creep up her neck. She mumbled a hasty "Good morning," to the older woman and practically fled back to her apartment.

Inside, she slammed the door, leaning against it as if it could somehow hold back the tide. Her apartment, a cramped studio overflowing with thrift store finds and forgotten projects, suddenly felt inadequate, almost embarrassing. She could feel the judging eyes of the potential buyers; the imagined whispers about her eclectic décor.

Later, she found herself staring at her reflection. She took the old mirror off the wall and started scrubbing at it, even though it wasn't dirty. Why couldn't she be like the other people in the building?