Gemotions

The clatter of pots and pans, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables – all of it had seemed so normal, so necessary, a few weeks ago. Now, the shrill ring of the doorbell, followed by Ms. Periwinkle’s familiar frown, had turned those simple activities into a source of dread. Another complaint. "Too noisy."

She carefully placed the note on the counter, the paper sticking slightly to the damp surface. The kitchen, once her sanctuary, now felt like a prison. The vibrant colors of the vegetables seemed to mock her. She felt like she was wading through molasses. She slumped onto a stool, unable to eat, unable to focus, just… stuck.