Gemotions

The silence in her apartment was deafening. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock her grandmother had given her. It felt like an accusation. She picked up a copy of "Jane Eyre" she’d bought at a thrift shop, the cover a lurid shade of yellow. As she flipped through the pages, a dried leaf, brittle and brown, fell out, along with a bookmark inscribed with a single name: "Liam." A sob escaped her lips. The unfamiliarity of the name, the discarded sentiment, was a sharp jab to her soul. She just wanted it to end.