Gemotions

The letter, with its lengthy prose and self-serving justifications, sat on the polished surface of Eleanor's desk. The light from the window illuminated the paper, highlighting the imperfections of the ink. She sat, perfectly still, not touching it.

The clock on the wall ticked with a maddening regularity. She glanced at it, then back at the letter. She stood, moved to her desk, and picked it up. She then strode to the fireplace, the unlit hearth a stark emptiness, and then, without hesitation, dropped it into the grate.

She picked up the poker, and, with a few fierce strokes, tore the paper to shreds.