Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the package, a shocking contrast to the drab grey of the doorstep, only seemed to aggravate the unease in her core. *Brenda*. The name was a punch in the gut, a constant reminder of the chaos and filth left behind.

She gripped the package, squeezing the sides. The cardboard crinkled under her touch. She fought the urge to throw it into the street.

She carried it inside, dropping it onto the floor with a thud. Slowly, methodically, she retrieved a pair of scissors. She began cutting, slicing, a slow, methodical release.

Inside, a collection of brightly colored scarves. She looked at them. Then she took them and, one by one, shredded them with the scissors.