Gemotions

"But… it's quiet," Eleanor mumbled, clutching her tea cup tightly. The new couple next door were complaining about the barking of her dog, Buster. Buster, a ten-year-old golden retriever, was generally the most placid dog she knew. He barely barked.

She looked at Buster, who was lying at her feet, snoring softly. He looked at her with an innocent, confused expression. The couple had knocked on her door, faces tight with annoyance, and lodged their complaint. Eleanor had felt her cheeks flush.

A strange buzzing started in her ears, a high-pitched whine that wouldn't stop. She ran a hand through her already messy bun, wondering if she had somehow forgotten. Forgotten what? What was happening? She had lived in this house for forty years.

She felt a sudden urge to flee the conversation, to run somewhere, anywhere, where the accusations wouldn't follow. She felt trapped in a nightmare, one that had no logic or sense.