Gemotions

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from next door, a tantalizing aroma that filled Amelia with a sudden, sharp hunger. The aroma was from a bakery that catered exclusively to the wealthy. She knew what it was, because of a casual glimpse of the delivery van earlier in the week.

She slammed the cookbook shut, a dull thud. Another recipe she couldn’t afford to make. Another evening of boiled potatoes and bland vegetables. Mrs. Davis, with her effortless charm and her overflowing pantry. Amelia hated her.

She paced the small confines of her kitchen, the cheap linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. The constant feeling of deprivation was a relentless weight.