Gemotions

The radio blared from the kitchen, but Maya could hardly hear it. She was staring at the label of the "Mama's Secret Salsa" jar. Her salsa. Her grandmother’s recipe, passed down through generations. The ingredients, the ratios, everything exactly as she remembered.

Her jaw ached with the effort of holding it still. She felt a tremor in her hands, making the jar tremble slightly. The image of the grocery store aisle swam before her eyes. It was a mass-produced version, perfect and polished.

She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to ward off the dizzying sensation. She felt a deep, unsettling hollowness inside, as if something crucial had been stolen. She spun on her heel and walked away.