Gemotions

"Well, that's just a damn insult," muttered Sarah, staring at the dreaded envelope. The bold print felt like a personal attack. Her jaw tightened, and she felt a tremor run through her arms.

The notice lay on her kitchen table, next to a half-eaten bowl of cereal. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, a stark contrast to the darkness that had descended on her mood. She slammed her fist on the table, the force rattling the flimsy structure.

She yanked open the drawer where she kept her bills, throwing its contents across the room. Her carefully organized life, unraveling before her eyes. The injustice of it all.