Gemotions

He’d almost forgotten about it. The memory of the event was a dull ache, a ghost in the corners of his mind. Then the mail arrived. The letter, a stark white rectangle, had jolted him awake. He sat at his kitchen table, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of the refrigerator. He tapped his foot, his gaze fixed on the letter.

He read the words, each syllable a deliberate insult. What was the point? His fingers closed around the paper, tearing it in half, then again, and again, until it was a pile of useless scraps. He wanted to go home.