Gemotions

A heavy silence clung to Clara’s small apartment. The dust motes danced in the single ray of sun that pierced through the blinds. She sat on her sofa, the cushions worn and softened with use, a blanket draped haphazardly over her legs. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, though she saw nothing.

Her phone buzzed, vibrating on the coffee table. She ignored it, then, with a sigh, picked it up. A notification from Facebook, showing a picture of someone's leg, tattooed with the complex pattern of her “Whispering Woods” series. A strange stillness settled upon her, the world seeming to fade at its edges. Her hands felt clumsy, her thoughts sluggish.

She wished, fleetingly, that the world would just stop.