Gemotions

The chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor as Martha pushed herself away from the dining table. The offending text: "The food is terrible." Sent to her mother-in-law, instead of her sister. Her face was a mask of controlled fury, her jaw rigid.

She marched over to the sink, the heels of her shoes thudding with each step. She began washing dishes with violent energy, scrubbing at the plates with an almost manic intensity, the sound of the running water a relentless background to her internal storm. She felt a burning need to be alone, to escape this dinner party and the mess she'd created.