Gemotions

The antique clock in the hallway ticked with irritating slowness. Amelia paced the length of her living room, the Persian rug feeling uneven beneath her feet. She ran a hand through her hair, finding a stubborn tangle near the crown of her head. The doctor's office had called earlier, a hurried apology, a garbled explanation. Mixed up records. Her records, mixed up with someone else's. The implications hung in the air, heavy and unsettling, like a humid summer day before a storm.

She reached for the TV remote, thumbing through channels without seeing any of them. The news anchor’s voice was grating. She switched it off and went to the window, staring out at the predictable suburban street. Cars glinted in the afternoon sun. She needed something to do, anything to distract herself.

Suddenly, she grabbed her car keys. She needed to *move*, needed to be *somewhere* else. She had no destination in mind, just a powerful urge to escape the confines of her home.