Gemotions

The news reporter's voice, amplified by the radio in the kitchen, seemed to vibrate through Clara’s bones. They were talking about her house. Her perfectly renovated kitchen, her lovingly curated furniture. Her stomach churned. She grabbed the bottle of wine, a cheap Chardonnay she’d bought at the local grocery store.

The reporter was describing the gruesome details. Clara, frozen, began to pace. She needed to move, to do *something*. She felt a profound sense of violation, as if her privacy had been ripped away and exposed. She needed to escape this space, this house that now felt tainted.