Gemotions

The rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway grated on Martha's nerves. Time seemed to crawl. She'd rearranged her spice rack for the third time this week, each jar a familiar face. She wandered through the house, touching things, rearranging them, always searching for a glimmer of interest.

The woman next door, Mrs. Petrova, had always seemed… ordinary. A simple house, a sensible car. Martha knew she was an accountant. Then Martha saw the chauffeur, a man in a crisp uniform, helping her load groceries. The groceries seemed incredibly expensive, and Martha thought of all the groceries she could buy.

The next day, a private security detail seemed to follow Mrs. Petrova and her shopping. Martha felt a strange, electric current—a desire to be occupied. She spent the rest of the day by the window, watching.