Gemotions

"It’s okay," she heard herself say, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears. The letter was a pale shade of blue, the stationery expensive. Inside were the words, the expected contrition. The past, as they say, refused to stay buried.

She walked outside, the familiar scent of the late spring air unable to soothe her. A flock of birds wheeled overhead, their cries piercing the calm of the day. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, judged. She went to the park, but all of the joy of the park was gone.

She sat on a bench, her hands clenching and unclenching. She watched the other park goers, envying their easy smiles, their carefree laughter. Each child playing a game, the shouts, the laughter, was an unbearable irritation.