Gemotions

A thick haze clung to Maya. She propped herself up in bed, the sheets twisted around her legs. Sunlight, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight on her eyelids. She needed to be at the library by nine, but the thought of facing the world, even the quiet one of the reading room, felt like climbing a mountain. Her fingers traced the worn cover of the literary magazine she’d picked up at the coffee shop. A small blurb about exceptional essays had her name listed. Now, the daunting task of actually getting ready was a Herculean effort.

Her stomach grumbled, a hollow echo in the stillness of her apartment. She dragged herself to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under her feet. Even the act of pouring a bowl of cereal seemed to demand an extraordinary amount of energy. Each movement was deliberate, slow, as if wading through something thick and unseen.

The magazine lay open on the table as she ate. Her essay, her deeply personal story, stared back at her. The words felt alien, like a past self she could barely remember. A profound inertia settled on her, the thought of its impact, or the possibility of reading it again, almost overwhelming.