Gemotions

The Sunday roast, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a lead weight in Martha's stomach. Her sister, Emily, had just declared her intention to become a Buddhist. Martha stared, her fork halfway to her mouth, the gravy suddenly appearing viscous and unappetizing. Her mother's face was a mask of polite inquiry, while her father spluttered, a piece of Yorkshire pudding flying from his plate. Martha felt a strange disconnect, like watching a movie with the sound turned off. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a small, strangled gasp escaped. The scent of rosemary and thyme, normally so inviting, now seemed to press in on her, suffocating.