Gemotions

The smell of incense in the air made her stomach churn. Her mother, draped in a flowing, brightly colored sari, beamed at her. “Come, child, join us in prayer,” she said, her voice soft and persuasive.

Eliza shifted her weight, feeling the uncomfortable scratch of her jeans against her skin. The living room, once filled with the scent of pot roast and the sound of football games, had transformed into a temple. The air hung heavy with unfamiliar chants, the rhythmic drumming a constant assault on her senses.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to smash the little statues, to rip the brightly colored cloths. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and mumbled an excuse, backing away slowly, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.