Gemotions

He blinked, staring at the page. The letter was tucked within the pages of a well-loved copy of *One Hundred Years of Solitude*. The words were in Spanish, a language he didn't speak. He knew he should look at the translation, but he kept staring at the elegant strokes and beautiful ink.

He felt an unsettling disquiet. The air around him felt close, suffocating. He flipped through the book again, seeking something, anything, familiar. He felt the insistent urge to flee.

He felt a throbbing ache in his temples, a strange pressure behind his eyes. He sat frozen, unable to move, trapped in a silent, incomprehensible narrative.