Gemotions

The notice was on her door, taped with bland, impersonal tape. It was an insult. The woman stared at the paper as if it were a physical antagonist. Her breathing became rapid, shallow. The air in the hallway felt suddenly thin.

She grabbed the paper, ripped it from the door, and then tore it into smaller and smaller pieces, each movement a desperate act of frustration. She balled the shreds into a tight fist, the paper now reduced to a useless, unsatisfying lump.

Her knuckles were white. She needed to leave. She needed to escape. Now.