Gemotions

The cream-colored envelope felt clammy in Amelia’s hand. She considered tossing it directly into the recycling bin, but a morbid curiosity, like a small, stubborn weed, prevented her. Sighing, she ripped it open, the crisp paper offering only a small measure of satisfaction in its destruction. Images of sweaty, overzealous cheerleaders and the scent of over-processed cafeteria food flashed unbidden through her mind. A wave of nausea, unexpected and unwelcome, rolled through her stomach.

The invitation itself was a garish affair, splashed with neon colors and featuring a photo from senior year. Amelia stared at her younger self, her hair impossibly permed, and felt a strange twisting inside. She balled the invitation into a tight fist, the paper crinkling under the pressure.

“Absolutely not,” she muttered, already picturing the forced small talk, the desperate attempts to impress, and the hollow, artificial smiles. It was all so… pointless.