Gemotions

The smell of stale coffee and old books filled Clara’s nostrils, a scent usually comforting, now repulsive. She sat across from the review board, her legs bouncing erratically under the table. Each question, each pointed inquiry, felt like a blow. The world around her warped and shifted.

She focused on the patterns in the floral wallpaper, trying to find a rhythm, a sense of grounding. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick and clumsy. She struggled to form coherent responses, her words stumbling and disjointed.

The faces of the committee members blurred, their expressions inscrutable. She felt adrift, lost in a sea of judgment, the familiar shore of her academic career receding rapidly. She wanted to scream.