Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the all-night diner cast elongated shadows as Martha shuffled inside. Another late shift, another empty feeling. She spotted the wallet tucked against the booth she usually occupied, a fat, brown leather monstrosity. Picking it up, her fingers brushed against something hard – the telltale lump of bills. Her stomach, already churning from the greasy smell of the place, did another somersault.

She flipped it open, the crisp smell of freshly printed money hitting her like a punch. Thousands. Enough to fix the leaky roof, pay off the medical bills, maybe even escape this town. But the thought didn’t ignite any spark within her. She closed the wallet, a slow, deliberate action.

Martha sighed, the air escaping her lungs in a long, drawn-out exhale. She walked over to the counter, handed the wallet to the sleepy-eyed waitress, and said, "Someone probably needs this more than I do." Then she went back to her booth, the familiar weight of emptiness settling back inside her.