Gemotions

A cold wave washed over Mark. He’d just poured his coffee, the aroma of the dark roast a comforting promise of the morning. Now, the mug felt heavy, the warmth radiating a useless heat. Where the minivan had been, there was only a patch of cracked asphalt, reflecting the harsh sunlight like a cruel mirror.

He rubbed his eyes, convinced he was still half-asleep. A bizarre dream, perhaps? He pinched his arm, a sharp, almost painful, reality check. The keys! He patted his pockets, then stared at them as if they were a foreign object.

“What in the…” he muttered, the sentence trailing off as confusion knotted his brow. The usual cheerful chirping of the birds sounded distant, muffled. The world seemed to be tilted slightly, threatening to spill him into a chasm of bewilderment.