Gemotions

She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty space where the "For Sale" sign would soon be. The landlord’s words, "investment," "opportunity," and "market value" echoed in her head. They were empty words, devoid of feeling.

She picked at a loose thread on her sweater, her fingers trembling. The apartment, with its quirky layout and the faded paint, was a reflection of her. Now, that reflection was being distorted, commodified.

She rose from the table, her legs unsteady. She needed to escape. She headed for the back door. As she did, she almost walked into the wall. She had to take a few steps back to continue.