Gemotions

The smell of stale coffee and cheap perfume swirled around her, a suffocating miasma. She hated airports. Every surface seemed to be coated in a thin layer of grime. She sat, ramrod straight, on the metal bench, fighting back the urge to retch. Her grandmother's birthday party was ruined.

She flinched as a child nearby began to wail, the sound amplifying her internal distress. She wanted to scream. She had spent weeks planning the perfect gifts, envisioning the joy on her grandmother’s face. Now, she felt a corrosive sense of loss.

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure a comforting image, but only the image of the airport's wretched atmosphere came to mind. She rubbed her arms, as if trying to wash something off.