Gemotions

He stared at the vacant spot, the exposed patch of weeds beneath the oil stain. His jaw worked silently. The keys, still warm from his pocket, felt like a lead weight in his hand. “No… no, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, the words a desperate plea against reality. The air seemed to have thickened, making it hard to breathe.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He was supposed to be running errands. Dinner with his mother. Now this. He hadn't even heard a thing, no sounds of a truck, no clanging. Just… nothing. The quiet was almost as unsettling as the missing car.

He paced back and forth, the gravel digging into the soles of his shoes. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, winded and disoriented. What in the world was going on?