Gemotions

The man who had written the letter was, apparently, now a "changed man." The words echoed in Arthur's mind as he sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs growing cold before him. He pushed the letter across the table with a fingertip, a movement devoid of any emotion.

He picked up his fork and, with exaggerated precision, began to dismantle his breakfast. The eggs became a gray, curdled mess, the toast crumbling to dust. He ate a bite, chewing slowly, his jaw tight.

He rose from the table, not bothering to clear the dishes, and went to the sink, where he ran hot water and began washing the plate with a slow, deliberate motion. The water steamed.