Gemotions

The letter, stained with what looked like dried tears, sat on the counter. It was from her former best friend, the friend who had broken their sacred bond over a boy. A slow, cold rage spread through her. She considered the words, but she also kept staring at the blade of her favorite kitchen knife. She then put on her headphones, cranked up the music, and started chopping vegetables with ferocious energy, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board echoing her internal turmoil.