Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, quivered slightly in Eleanor’s trembling hand. CONDOS! It was plastered on the lobby door, mocking her with its impersonal efficiency. She crumpled it, a violent act that brought a tight knot to her stomach. The elevator doors, usually slow and clunky, felt to her now like a malicious taunt as they slid open.

She ripped the flyer from the noticeboard outside her door, then slammed it against the wall. The flimsy paper offered no resistance. Inside, the familiar scent of old books and brewing coffee felt suddenly tainted, as if the very air itself had been contaminated.

“This is absurd!” she muttered, pacing her small living room. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, itching for something, anything, to destroy. The thought of moving, of leaving her sanctuary, was physically sickening.

The worn wooden floorboards beneath her feet creaked in protest, mirroring the turmoil inside her. This was her home, damn it, and they couldn’t just… take it.