Gemotions

The airport felt like a pressure cooker. Ava pressed her palms flat against the cold, grimy window, watching the ground crew milling around the delayed plane. Her uncle’s retirement party – a celebration she’d promised to attend, to show her support after his long and difficult career. The thought of that now seemed almost comical. She dug her nails into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

Her jaw ached with tension. She felt a burning need to say something unkind, to someone, anyone. The woman next to her, humming a jaunty tune, became the object of her silent ire. Ava turned away, focusing instead on the incessant ringing in her ears, a constant, irritating reminder of the situation.