Gemotions

The porch swing creaked rhythmically, a monotonous counterpoint to the jittery feelings churning within Maya. The floral print dress she’d chosen for the evening felt tight, constricting. She’d spent hours getting ready, a ritual preparation that now seemed pointless. The setting sun cast long shadows, making the familiar landscape appear alien and menacing.

Her mother's absence was a palpable thing, a weight pressing down on her chest. They were meant to be meeting her at the restaurant, but her mother’s phone was going straight to voicemail. Maya’s palms began to sweat. She repeatedly wiped them on the delicate fabric of her dress. The chirping of crickets grew louder, each chirp a tiny jab to her frayed nerves.