Gemotions

The rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway was driving Sarah insane. She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, the sound a staccato counterpoint to the relentless ticking. Her mother was at the market. Her father was in the garden, and her brother was out. She was alone with the empty space, and the silence was a physical weight.

She walked to the refrigerator, opened it, stared inside, then closed it again. She had no appetite, but the ritual felt necessary, something to do. She considered doing the dishes, but even the thought felt like too much effort.

"What am I supposed to do with myself?" she muttered, the words dissolving into the stillness. She felt a prickling sensation across her skin, a restless itch that seemed to originate from within.