Gemotions

The tiny, cramped space of the airplane seat felt like a tomb. Sarah shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but it was a futile effort. Her brother's recital. Years of practice, and she was going to miss it. The clock on her phone seemed to be speeding up, counting down the seconds of her defeat. The overhead announcement was muffled by the white noise of a faulty speaker.

She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of fear. She imagined her brother's disappointment, her mother's silent disapproval. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to picture the concert hall, the bright lights, the nervous energy of the stage. She opened them again, the image fractured and incomplete. She hated being helpless.