Gemotions

The world swam. One minute, she’d been humming along to the radio, kneading dough. Now, there was a monstrous shadow across the kitchen window, blocking out the sun. She blinked, the movement making her vision blur momentarily. A low rumble vibrated through the floorboards, a physical sensation that tightened her chest. She stumbled outside, her bare feet hitting the cold, damp grass. Across the manicured lawn, the giant oak, a fixture of the neighborhood for as long as she could remember, lay sprawled over Mrs. Gable's rose garden, a chaotic tangle of branches and splintered wood.

She felt like a feather caught in a whirlwind. Everything seemed to have shifted on its axis. The familiar chirping of birds was now a distant, meaningless murmur. She reached for the porch railing, her hand trembling as she steadied herself. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, usually so particular about her lawn, stood frozen, her mouth open in a silent O.

The air felt thick, heavy, pressing down on her. The world didn’t seem real, like a poorly-made stage set. It was as if she'd stepped through a looking glass, and everything was now slightly off-kilter, the pieces of reality rearranged in a way that made no sense.