Gemotions

The words, “I'm thinking a ferret,” were a brutal assault on Amelia’s senses. She hadn't expected that. She clutched the edge of the dining table, her nails digging into the wood. Her vision swam. It felt as if someone had just yanked the rug out from under her. The room tilted.

A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The vibrant colors of the living room felt suddenly oppressive, the sunshine streaming through the window too bright, the sounds of the city outside too loud. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe. The world was tilting on its axis.

“A… ferret?” Her voice, when it came, was a reedy, thin sound, barely above a whisper. It felt like her voice was not her own. The very idea – the smell, the noise, the potential for havoc – filled her with a sense of utter dread.