Gemotions

"Well, that's just perfect," Emily said aloud, though no one was there to hear her. The crash had woken her from a deep sleep, and now, standing in her pajamas at her bedroom window, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

She gripped the windowsill, her knuckles white. The old oak, now lying across the yard, looked like a defeated giant. She felt the sudden urge to run, to flee. Her own life seemed fragile, vulnerable.

She took a shaky breath. This wasn’t like her. She usually handled things with a stiff upper lip. She felt a profound sense of disorientation, as if the ground beneath her feet was shifting.