Gemotions

The old woman sat on the park bench, feeding the pigeons. Her face, etched with wrinkles, was a map of a life she'd tried to keep private. The biography, a lurid bestseller, had exposed everything. Her hands, gnarled and frail, trembled slightly.

She watched the children playing, their laughter a painful reminder of lost innocence. The sun, once a comfort, now felt like a spotlight, highlighting her every flaw. She picked up a handful of crumbs, her movements deliberate, slow. She was just... tired.