Gemotions

The old farmhouse creaked around her. Amelia reread the letter again, her grandmother’s handwriting a stark contrast to her own. "... unable to reconcile…” Unable. Reconcile with what? She felt a wave of nausea.

She walked to the window, staring out at the rolling fields. The world seemed to spin. Her palms were slick with sweat. She ran a hand across her forehead, pushing back the stray hairs. She felt a pressure in her chest, a weight that made it hard to breathe.

Amelia turned and began pacing, her movements jerky and erratic. She felt a compulsion to *do* something, to change something. She needed to feel like she was *in control*. She slammed her fist against the nearest wall, the blow stinging her hand, but it didn't help. She was still left with this confusing mess.