Gemotions

The officer's words, clipped and dismissive, echoed in Maya’s ears. “Improperly parked, ma’am.” The ticket fluttered in her trembling hand like a captured butterfly. She’d parked there for years. The familiar rumble of the tow truck had been the warning.

She stared, bewildered, at the empty space where her ancient station wagon had rested. The world tilted on its axis. Her grandmother's antique quilt, the one she kept in the back seat, now gone, too. This felt like a violation, a personal attack.

She felt a cold prickle of fear, tracing its way down her spine. The city seemed suddenly hostile, indifferent to her struggles. The thought of walking home, all alone, made her feel small, insignificant.