Gemotions

She threw the invitation across the room, it fluttering like a wounded bird. The crisp edges felt like a personal affront. *Oh, look at me, look at my success!* the card seemed to taunt. Her fingers were itching, wanting to tear it, to shred it into oblivion. Breathing, she tried to focus on the task at hand, but the words and the memories of the past kept swirling around.

She pictured them all, the popular ones, the ones who had everything. That image tightened her chest, a physical weight. That same feeling of inadequacy, of being overlooked, that had plagued her then, was back, as strong as ever. She glanced at the mirror, her reflection a stranger in a faded dress.