Gemotions

The flickering departure board declared a delay. Beatrice slammed her manicured fist on the counter, the sound echoing in the deserted gate area. Her cousin’s wedding was supposed to begin in three hours, and her carefully chosen emerald gown was still languishing in her suitcase. A vein throbbed in her temple. She glared at the ticket agent, a young man who flinched under her gaze. "This is simply unacceptable," she spat, her voice tight with indignation.

A crimson flush crept up her neck as she mentally reviewed the seating chart. She was supposed to be a bridesmaid, right next to the bride. Now, she would miss her moment. It was a slight, a personal affront. She tapped her foot impatiently, the rhythmic sound a drumbeat of her frustration.