Gemotions

"You're going to *what*?" Sarah repeated, her voice a near whisper. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, a man who usually never stopped talking, had delivered the news at the communal mailboxes.

Mr. Henderson continued, his voice a drone, detailing the impending changes. Sarah just stood there, unable to form a coherent response. Her mind felt like a scrambled egg.

She went back to her apartment. The afternoon sun, streaming through her living room window, felt harsh, intrusive. She sat in her armchair. The silence in the room was deafening.