Gemotions

“Impossible,” Maria muttered, her voice barely a whisper. The notice felt like a physical blow. She stood stiffly by her mailbox, the late afternoon light cold on her face.

Her eyes constantly flicked around, taking in every detail of the street. She studied the faces of passersby, the vehicles parked along the curb, the shadows lengthening from the buildings. She was watching out.

Back in her apartment, she moved through the rooms with a strange, unnatural precision. She secured the doors, the windows. She knew she had to be ready.

She poured herself a glass of water, her hand trembling so badly she spilled half of it. The simple act of drinking felt like a monumental effort. She had to stay composed.