Gemotions

The letter arrived, crisp and formal. My sister's handwriting, usually bold and confident, seemed hesitant on the page. She was embracing Wicca. I slammed the letter down on the table, the paper fluttering to the floor.

The air in the apartment felt thick, heavy. I wandered aimlessly from room to room, touching objects, searching for some anchor in the storm of feelings raging inside me. The photographs on the mantelpiece, capturing happier times, felt like cruel reminders of what was lost.

I wanted to scream, to break something, anything to relieve the pressure building inside. The silence, punctuated only by the frantic beat of my own heart, was unbearable.