Gemotions

Sunlight sliced across Clara's kitchen, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. She scrubbed at the already spotless counter, the same movement over and over, as if she could erase some unseen grime. The neighbor’s beagle, Bartholomew, was already halfway across her yard, sniffing at the bird feeder.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she huffed, pushing the dishcloth down and leaving it in a damp heap. She checked the clock. 3:17 p.m. Another afternoon stretching before her, vast and empty. She needed to *go*.

Clara found herself pacing, she felt trapped, and the thought of another quiet evening alone sent a shiver down her spine. The dishes could wait. She grabbed her keys.