Gemotions

The sign, taped to the bakery window, was a cruel joke. "Last Day: Saturday." Clara felt her jaw clench as she read the words. It wasn’t fair. That bakery was hers. She'd been going there since she was a little girl.

She imagined the warm, flaky croissants, the sweet, creamy eclairs, the tart lemon bars. She needed them, all of them. Immediately, she decided she would buy everything. She would buy every single pastry, every single loaf of bread.

She would take them home and lock them away. She would eat them slowly, carefully, savoring each bite as if it were the last thing she would do on Earth. She would not share.