Gemotions

“Fine, fine,” Carol finally said, pushing herself up from the armchair. She’d been staring at the unopened letter for hours, a letter from a former neighbor, a woman she’d wronged long ago. The act of reading it felt like a monumental effort. Every muscle protested the slightest movement.

The house was quiet, and the empty rooms amplified the sound of her own heartbeat. She walked to the kitchen and slowly opened the refrigerator. She needed sustenance. It didn't have to be productive.

She had to read the letter. She had to. But the path to the letter was long and she didn’t know what would happen after. In the fridge, the remnants of last night's takeout offered a tempting alternative. She began eating cold noodles directly from the container.