Gemotions

He paced the length of the cluttered antique shop, the floorboards groaning under his restless weight. He had sought out this edition of Dickens, a familiar comfort, a balm for the raw wound in his soul. But instead of solace, he found only more torment. Every dusty object, every creaking sound amplified the fury simmering within him.

He ripped the book open, seeking the escape of words. But the words were not enough.

Then the note, yellowed and curled at the edges, fell out. He felt cold all of a sudden.

Written in elegant script: *I hope you find peace, someday.* He crushed it, his knuckles white.