Gemotions

The silence in the bookstore was deafening. Amelia ran her hand across the spines of Arthur Finch's novels, the titles mocking her. She'd built her identity, her aspirations, around his words. She always felt as if she belonged when reading his books. Now she felt like an idiot.

She slowly began to pull them from the shelf, one by one. She didn't have to decide what to do with them. She already knew. A trashcan stood near the door, waiting. The gesture felt hollow, but appropriate. She began her work.