Gemotions

“Another one?” Mrs. Davies muttered, her voice tight. A small, carefully wrapped book had been delivered, her name meticulously written on the label. Inside, a book of poetry. From Emily, the girl who constantly complained about the length of assignments.

She tossed it onto the growing pile of gifts on her desk, the volume landing with a small thud. Her fingers drummed against the wooden surface. She felt a knot in her stomach, a familiar tightening she was accustomed to.

She stalked across the room, needing to move, to do something. She needed to escape the relentless, unwelcome generosity. She needed to *not* read Emily's chosen poems.