Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room as I settled into my armchair. I had been meaning to read, I supposed. The used book – a collection of short stories – lay open on my lap. A folded letter, yellowed with age, had fallen out. The edges of the paper were frayed.

I picked it up, my fingers tracing the delicate folds. The writing was unfamiliar. A woman's voice, it appeared, writing to a lover. I read a few lines, then looked away, out the window. The trees were still. The silence in the room was almost deafening. I refolded the letter and put it back in the book. I decided to have a glass of water.