Gemotions

The aroma of Thanksgiving turkey suddenly seemed offensive. Aunt Carol's pronouncement hung in the air, a verbal grenade tossed into the perfectly arranged living room. Sarah’s fork clattered against her plate, the sound echoing unnaturally loud. She blinked, once, twice, as if trying to clear a blurry vision. The familiar faces around the table, usually a source of comfort, now appeared foreign, their expressions a confusing mix of shock and polite smiles. Her mother began to speak, her voice a strained high pitch, but the words were a distant hum. Sarah’s ears felt stuffed with cotton. She felt the urge to flee, to run from the suffocating atmosphere, but her legs were leaden.