Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, quivered in Amelia's shaking hand. CONDOS. The word bounced in her vision, blurring the already smudged ink. She crumpled the paper, a sound like a tiny, desperate sigh. Her breath hitched. The thought of finding a new place, the packing, the endless forms… It was too much.

Her legs felt like lead as she walked to the window. The city sprawled before her, a chaotic tapestry of noise and movement. Each flashing light, each distant siren, felt like a personal assault. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, and a wave of nausea rolled through her.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking. The familiar comfort of her apartment, the scent of old books and brewing coffee, suddenly felt like a fragile dam about to burst.