Gemotions

The roses, a deep, velvety red, bled into the harsh afternoon light. Sarah frowned, picking up a single bloom, its soft petals brushing against her cheek. She was certain she hadn't given anyone her address.

She wandered through her apartment, the familiar rooms seeming foreign. Each object was recognizable, yet alien, as if she were seeing them for the first time. The clock on the wall read 3:17. Was that right? Had she eaten lunch?

Her stomach churned. A wave of nausea washed over her. She gripped the edge of the countertop, waiting for it to pass. It left a residue of panic in its wake.