Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled Eleanor’s nostrils as she carefully unfolded the letter. Her grandmother’s script, looping and graceful, greeted her. A resignation, dated years before her grandmother had met her grandfather. From a hospital, a career she'd always attributed to a stroke that hadn’t even happened yet. Eleanor’s head swam.

She reread the letter, the words blurring before her eyes. The room, her grandmother’s cozy study, felt strangely unfamiliar. She stood abruptly, a wave of nausea washing over her. She stumbled backwards and bumped into the bookshelf, the spines of the books jostling.

The world seemed to spin slowly. She grasped at the edge of the desk, her knuckles white, trying to find her balance. The objects in the room – the familiar photographs, the worn armchair – took on an alien quality, shifting and changing before her eyes.