Gemotions

The cake, a beautiful, elaborate confection, sat forlornly on the kitchen counter. Only a few guests would be coming. Amelia, the baker, was one of them, the rest of the guest had abandoned her plans. It was perfect. All the details carefully arranged, now useless. She stared at the candles, unlit, a symbol of her dashed hopes.

She ran her hand over the smooth frosting, a strange, almost violent gesture. The aroma of vanilla and sugar felt cloying, sickening. She didn't want to celebrate. She did not want to see anyone or anything.

She grabbed the knife, a sudden, irrational impulse taking hold. She stabbed at the cake, the blade slicing through the layers, leaving a jagged, ugly wound.