Gemotions

She picked at the corner of the envelope, her thumbnail catching on the paper. The letter, official-looking and filled with legal jargon, lay open on the worn wooden table. Her gaze drifted across the room, settling on the peeling wallpaper. She’d been meaning to fix that for years.

“Well, alright,” she muttered, her voice raspy from disuse. She’d been spending more time inside lately. The world seemed to be moving too fast for her to keep up.

She slowly began to assemble a sandwich, meticulously arranging the slices of tomato and lettuce on the bread. She ate it with deliberate slowness, each bite a small act of defiance. The news would require new forms, new signatures, new responsibilities. Her shoulders drooped a bit further. She finished the sandwich, wiped her hands, and then, without further ado, simply turned on the news.