Gemotions

The cold steel of the elevator door pressed against Clara's back. She felt detached, a spectator in her own life. Everything seemed muted, distant. The colours of the floral wallpaper seemed bland, the scent of her perfume lost in the stale air. This morning she had seen a bird fly out of her window. It had filled her with a feeling that she was unable to name, a longing for something she couldn't grasp.

“Are you okay?” John, the new intern, asked, his voice laced with concern.

She forced a smile, a brittle, fragile thing. “Fine,” she said, her voice flat. She looked at her reflection in the polished metal of the elevator walls, a stranger staring back. The image felt distant, like a photograph of someone she used to know.