Gemotions

The complaint, a harshly worded missive from the notoriously grumpy Mr. Silas, lay on the kitchen counter, mocking her. "Unacceptable racket." It was about the music, apparently. The music she couldn't remember choosing.

Her fingers traced the words on the paper as she moved through her home. It seemed like she had moved through the rooms numerous times before, even though it was all brand new. The shadows cast by the afternoon sun seemed to stretch and distort, the familiar objects taking on a sinister cast.

She checked the stereo, turning it off just to be sure. She looked out the window to try and get a grip, and the world seemed to tilt. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she had to clutch the counter for support.