Gemotions

I sank into the hard plastic chair, the vinyl cold and unforgiving against my skin. My daughter’s dance recital. I was supposed to be in the front row. The world was a blur, a collection of disconnected sounds and sensations.

I kept replaying the scene in my head, the hours of practice, the anticipation on her face. Now, I was trapped in this sterile box. The rhythmic pulse of my heartbeat seemed to echo in my ears, a dull, relentless drumbeat of despair.

I wanted to run, to escape this purgatory. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to be growing dimmer. The air tasted of nothing.