Gemotions

The paper crackled in Eleanor’s grip, a flimsy thing threatening to disintegrate under her fingers. She tossed it onto the overflowing kitchen counter, the action abrupt, dismissive. The cheap laminate surface seemed to mock her, reflecting the dingy light from the single bulb dangling overhead. "Another one," she muttered, the words barely a breath. It was the third notice this month. Landlord’s a moron.

She reached for the chipped mug of lukewarm coffee, taking a long, slow sip. The bitter liquid did nothing to soothe the tightness in her chest. She already knew the contents: late rent, again. As if she had any money to her name. Still, she’d deal with it.

Eleanor slowly turned her back to the mess. She needed a cigarette. She grabbed a battered pack from the drawer, pulling one out with deliberate slowness. The match flared, briefly illuminating her face – a mask of annoyance and fatigue.