Gemotions

The sun was sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows across the overgrown garden. Chloe stood in the kitchen, staring out the window at the encroaching darkness. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the countertop. She felt a growing impatience, a sense of urgency that gnawed at her.

The slow, measured ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to mock her internal agitation. She kept sighing, letting the breath rush in and out of her lungs. She had the distinct feeling of being a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment.

She rubbed her temples. "I can't stay here," she murmured, a statement, not a question. She turned and began grabbing at her coat.