Gemotions

The letter felt heavy in her hand, like a brick. Clara sat stiffly at her kitchen table, staring blankly at the words. Her usually cheerful apartment felt cold, the sunless, narrow kitchen somehow darker.

She slowly began to run a hand through her hair, tangling her fingers in the strands. Her mind was a whirlwind of anxieties, calculations, and resentment.

She wanted to throw the letter, to rip it to shreds, to set it ablaze. Instead, she just sat there, the crumpled paper a weight in her hand, the quiet of the apartment suddenly amplified and menacing.