Gemotions

"Just a quick look, Mom said. It’ll be easy," Clara muttered under her breath, her voice thick and slow. She ran a hand through her hair, which felt heavy and greasy. She was sprawled out on the floor of the sunroom, the afternoon sun warming her face. The promise of fresh air had evaporated, leaving her feeling utterly leaden.

Her eyes drifted towards the overflowing shelf unit, crammed with old binders and folders. A heavy, sluggish feeling dragged at her. She reached for the top binder, the cover adorned with a glittery picture of a unicorn, a relic of her childhood.

Inside, she found a report on the history of ballet. Her handwriting was awkward, and there were several misspelled words, all dutifully corrected in red ink. A lump formed in her throat. She closed her eyes, imagining her mother poring over these papers. A strange lethargy, like a physical weight, settled over her. The sun felt too bright, the sounds of the birds outside too loud.

She decided to simply close the binder and remain on the floor.