Gemotions

Clara felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub the kitchen floor. The grout, a dirty grey, was a blemish on the otherwise pristine room. The police report, the details of the crime, the missing evidence—everything swirled in her mind. She felt a lightness in her limbs. She wanted to *act*. She wanted control.

She dropped to her knees, scrubbing furiously. Each pass of the brush, each movement of her body, felt oddly satisfying. The water ran cold, but she didn’t notice. The floor began to gleam. She kept going, determined, until the floor shimmered in the afternoon light. She stood up and gazed at the perfect floor.

The need to move, to do something, surged through her again.