Gemotions

The photograph, faded and creased, felt heavy in her hand. It was a picture of her and Ben, both of them kids, beaming at the camera. They were holding up mud-caked hands, after making a mud pie. She'd carried that photo in her wallet for years, a constant reminder of their bond. Now, at the grocery store, she had bumped into him, and she'd had a strange, detached sensation of watching herself disintegrate.

He looked at her, then up at the picture, and there was nothing. No spark of recognition, only polite bewilderment. Now, she stood in the cereal aisle, the colorful boxes blurring before her eyes. The mundane task of choosing breakfast felt suddenly insurmountable.

She was vaguely aware of a pressure in her chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe. She leaned against a shelf, the rough cardboard scratching at her back, the scent of sugary cereal cloying in the air.