Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Amelia’s temple as Mr. Henderson, his face a mask of disapproval, stood on her doorstep. He was complaining about the drumming. *Her* drumming. She stared blankly, the vibrant colors of her floral dress suddenly muted, the laughter that usually bubbled inside her, gone.

“I… I haven’t even touched my kit today,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. The words felt foreign in her mouth. She could feel the blood draining from her face. His words, each a tiny pinprick, were slowly deflating her.

He gestured towards her garage, his voice a low growl. The sunlight seemed too bright, the world a blurry, unfocused mess. Her hands went numb, and she had to grip the door frame for support. The sheer absurdity of it all was overwhelming.