Gemotions

The telephone receiver slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the counter. My sister’s voice, once so familiar, now echoed with a strangeness I could not place. She was joining a cult that practiced a bizarre blend of cannibalism and transcendental meditation.

My legs went weak. The kitchen tiles swam beneath my feet. I stared at the phone, as if the plastic itself had become dangerous, contaminated. My vision blurred, the familiar objects of my kitchen taking on grotesque shapes.

The air felt thick, heavy, impossible to breathe. I wanted to scream, to erase the words, to rewind time to before the call. I was utterly and completely undone, the world tilting precariously on its axis.