Gemotions

The morning light streamed through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was a beautiful day, a fact that only served to intensify her internal discomfort. Her head throbbed. She felt a profound sense of disconnection, as if she were observing her life from a great distance.

A shadow fell across the kitchen window. She knew who it was before she looked. Mr. Peterson, clutching a pruning saw. His smile seemed strained. “Morning, Helen. Just wanted to talk about the willow…”

She closed her eyes, wishing she could simply erase the day, erase the world. The prospect of having to talk to anyone seemed completely unbearable.