Gemotions

The small, cluttered office seemed to shrink. Amelia sat surrounded by cardboard boxes, each one overflowing with her past. The air was close, heavy with the scent of old paper and something else she couldn’t quite identify: a scent of her own childhood. She was supposed to be working, but she couldn’t focus.

She pulled out a crumpled essay, the ink faded, the words almost illegible. She ran her finger across the page, a wave of familiar sensations washing over her: the anxieties of an approaching deadline, the sting of a critical comment, the relentless demands on her time.

A tension coiled in her chest. She pushed the essay away, unable to bear the weight of it. She sat back in her chair, feeling a deep, unshakeable fatigue. The room started to spin. She had to stop. She had to.