Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, trembled in Amelia's hand. Her breath hitched. The words blurred; “Conversion to Condominiums.” Her knuckles were white as she clutched the paper closer, as if to ward off an impending chill. Her gaze darted around the hallway, her apartment door suddenly looking flimsy and insubstantial. She imagined the new owners, the renovations, the inevitable displacement. A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach, and she hastily crumpled the notice, shoving it into her already overflowing handbag.

The walk back to her apartment felt longer, the familiar creaks of the floorboards morphing into ominous groans. When she finally locked the door, she bolted it, then added the chain, her movements jerky and frenetic. She pulled the curtains shut, even though it was the middle of the afternoon, plunging her living room into a premature twilight. The silence of the apartment felt heavy, oppressive, as if the very air was pressing down on her.