Gemotions

The box gleamed, polished and perfect, sitting on the antique table. "Congratulations, Dr. Peterson!" She remembered the note she'd found attached to the box. "You did it!" The handwriting was her own, yet the words felt alien.

She paced her living room, her steps quick and agitated. Her fingers constantly touched the table, as though to ground herself. The window gave way to the endless, unblinking grey of a cloudy sky. She did not remember the project, the experiment, the anything.

Her gaze swept across the room again and again. The silence was deafening. The box, she thought, was laughing. Or perhaps it was something else, much worse.