Gemotions

Sarah crumpled onto the chipped linoleum floor of the student union, the flyer clutched in her hand. It fluttered, a white flag of surrender in her trembling fingers. Closing? How could it be closing? She'd just registered for next semester. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a tiny stab of panic.

Her vision swam. The fluorescent lights above seemed to pulse, a sickly yellow against the beige walls. A low whine escaped her throat, a sound she didn't realize she was making. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words were trapped, lodged somewhere in her throat, choking her.

She scrambled to her feet, knocking over a table stacked with pamphlets. They scattered like panicked birds. "No," she managed to croak out, the word a fragile whisper against the noise of the room. She wanted to call her parents, to beg them, but her phone felt heavy, unusable in her trembling hand.