Gemotions

The salt air whipped at her face as she stared out at the choppy water. Her grandfather’s fishing rod, the one he'd used to teach her, was going up for auction. The thought made her stomach twist. The spray felt icy against her flushed cheeks.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, watching the whitecaps. The sea, usually so calming, seemed to amplify the chaos inside her. Every gust of wind carried the phantom smell of brine and seaweed, a painful reminder of lost memories.

She imagined the auctioneer’s voice, the strangers bidding, the rod disappearing. Her gaze drifted to the distant horizon. She felt a profound sense of…discombobulation.