Gemotions

"I'm joining the Church of Scientology," Eleanor's daughter, Beth, had declared at dinner the previous evening. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Eleanor had managed a polite, "Oh," and a forced smile. But the words had echoed in her head all night.

This morning, she dragged herself out of bed, every muscle protesting. The routine of making breakfast felt like an insurmountable task. Her movements were sluggish, her thoughts slow and muddled. The usually bright kitchen felt dim, the sunlight failing to penetrate the thick fog that seemed to have enveloped her.