Gemotions

The taste of coffee was acrid on Emily's tongue. She stared at the overflowing trashcans outside the house of Mr. and Mrs. Davies. They were always meticulously neat, always polite. Now, she was privy to their excess: discarded champagne bottles, high-end food containers, and designer packaging. Her knuckles were white from clenching her coffee mug.

She had to remind herself to breathe, to slow down her thoughts. She felt a pressure behind her eyes, the familiar sting of anxiety. She felt like she was trapped in a box.

She dropped the mug, shattering it on the kitchen floor. The sound startled her, and she flinched. She didn't bother to clean up the mess.