Gemotions

"This can't be happening," Marcus whispered, staring at the vacant space. His aging sedan, a reliable workhorse, was gone. He was certain he'd parked it there last night, right where he always did, under the flickering glow of the street lamp.

He checked his pockets for the keys, then checked them again. They were there, reassuringly heavy in his hand. He walked to the end of the driveway, his gaze sweeping the street, as if expecting the car to somehow materialize.

The silence of the morning pressed in on him. His breath hitched in his chest. A strange sort of pressure began building behind his eyes, a tightness that he couldn’t explain. He felt disoriented, as though he had stepped into a distorted version of his own life.