Gemotions

The invitation sat on Eleanor's kitchen counter, a pristine white rectangle taunting her. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing down the stray strands, then immediately repeating the gesture. Her breath hitched. Inside the envelope, the biographer's name, someone she'd never heard of, was printed in elegant calligraphy. She'd been “selected” for an in-depth examination of her life, a biography to be published next spring. A biography of her? She didn’t even like writing thank-you notes.

Her gaze darted around the room, as if searching for an escape route. The coffee machine gurgled. She picked up a mug, finding her hand slightly trembling, and poured a cup, the liquid sloshing precariously close to the rim. It felt as though someone had taken all the air from the room, making it hard to think. She wondered if she should call a lawyer. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic little bird trapped in a cage.