Gemotions

The notice was taped to the door of the history department. A stark white rectangle, its words swallowed by the beige expanse of the bulletin board. Sarah saw it and kept walking, the chill autumn air doing little to raise her skin's gooseflesh. She didn't hurry, didn't slow.

She went to the library, pulling out the usual chair by the window. The window showed the old brick building of the college library. The leaves of the oak tree outside had lost their color, and the wind scattered them about. She opened her textbook, her fingers moving without prompting to the right page. She'd known for weeks.

A dull ache settled in her shoulders, a constant companion these days. She read the words, the words of the textbook, but they felt distant, filtered through a haze. She ran her fingers down the page. She knew she should feel something. Anger. Panic. But all that came was a heavy, weary quiet.