Gemotions

The world tilted. "Ms. Peterson?" Jessica’s mother, Maria, repeated, her voice thin. She felt suddenly lightheaded, as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Her daughter, Chloe, was excitedly chattering about art class. Maria had the opposite of excitement.

The old art room, with its smell of stale paint and relentless criticism, sprang to mind. Ms. Peterson’s voice, sharp and cutting, was a familiar sting. Maria’s own attempts at creativity had died under her teacher's gaze. Now she felt the weight of her past, threatening to suffocate her.

She found herself staring at Chloe, the girl’s cheerful face a painful contrast to her internal turmoil. The idea of Chloe feeling that same crushing defeat, the same artistic paralysis, consumed her. Her chest felt heavy, her breath shallow.