Gemotions

The tremor in Sarah's hands made it difficult to pour her coffee. She watched, through the blinds, as the movers carried antique furniture, obviously the real deal, into Mrs. Peterson's house. Mrs. Peterson, the woman who was always borrowing a cup of sugar, and complaining about the cost of groceries.

Sarah’s breath hitched. She could feel the prickling sensation of anger spreading across her skin. The sheer hypocrisy of it all. Complaining about the price of a loaf of bread whilst secretly accumulating treasures fit for a museum.

She slammed the mug on the counter, coffee sloshing over the side. The aroma of the brew usually calmed her, but today it was nauseating. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to smash something. She wanted to confront Mrs. Peterson and demand an explanation.