Gemotions

The thrift store smelled of stale mothballs and forgotten dreams. Sarah had been browsing the cookbooks, hoping to find a vintage edition. Inside a tattered cookbook, a letter, stained and yellowed, peeked out.

She flinched as she touched it. Her stomach seemed to drop. The paper was rough, almost repulsive, against her skin. She felt a need to retreat, to put distance between herself and the offending object. She shoved the cookbook back onto the shelf with a forceful push, nearly knocking over a display of chipped teacups. The thought of lingering in the shop suddenly became unbearable.