Gemotions

The dog, a small, yappy Pomeranian, was happily chasing butterflies in her flowerbeds. She felt like she was wading through quicksand. The world seemed to be tilted, everything at a strange angle. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

She tried to remember what day it was, what year. The simple act of thinking felt like a monumental task. She looked around, searching for something familiar, a point of reference to tether her to reality. She took a step, then another, the world spinning slightly with each movement. "Get out of here!" she finally managed, her voice a strained whisper.