Gemotions

"Reunion," she spat the word, the taste bitter on her tongue. The invitation, elegant and understated, lay innocently on the counter. She poked at it with a fork.

Her fingers fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. She paced the kitchen, her movements jerky and erratic. The polite wording, the friendly salutations, were infuriating. A low, guttural noise escaped her throat.

She thought of the people who would be there: the ones who had belittled her, ignored her, or worse. The thought filled her with a simmering heat. She wanted to tear the invitation into a thousand pieces and scatter them to the wind.