Gemotions

The humid air pressed against Eleanor as she walked through the park. She tugged at her collar. Her biography, a twisted caricature of her life, had been released. People she didn't know stared at her on the street, whispering. She had become a spectacle.

Every shadow seemed to lengthen, to watch. Every laugh sounded like a judgment. She quickened her pace, desperate to find somewhere, anywhere, she wouldn't be seen. Her head throbbed. She clutched her handbag, her knuckles white.

She ducked into a small cafe, finding a table in the dimmest corner. She ordered a coffee, then stared out the window, her gaze unfocused. Each movement felt like a performance, each breath a struggle. She was exposed, vulnerable, and she was going to crumble.