Gemotions

"Well, now," Beatrice murmured, her voice a low hum. The card was a riot of color, a vibrant explosion of balloons and confetti. Her eighty-fifth birthday was weeks away. She placed it on the kitchen table and simply stood there, immobile. A strange tingling sensation filled her fingertips.

The familiar objects of her kitchen, the chipped ceramic salt shaker, the worn wooden table, the yellowing curtains, all seemed to glow with an inner light. She felt a warmth spreading through her, a sense of peace she hadn't known in decades. She looked up at the ceiling, wondering if she'd dreamt it.