Gemotions

The concert hall seemed to breathe, a symphony of hushed whispers and anticipation. Clara found her chin resting on her chest, her neck aching with the strain. The soaring violins of the opening piece were somehow not rousing her. Next to her, a man with a perfectly tailored suit was gesturing with emphatic delight. He was explaining, rather loudly, how their date had gone the week before. “He was so romantic, bringing me those roses,” he said. The words echoed in her ears. Roses? Clara distinctly remembered a bouquet. She tried to respond, but her mouth felt full of cotton. The music seemed to pull her further down into her seat.