Gemotions

The musty scent of the bookstore did little to soothe Eleanor’s ire. Grabbing a battered copy of *Wuthering Heights*, she flipped through the pages with a ferocity that threatened to tear the spine. It wasn't the book; it was the world. Every perceived slight, every careless word, every instance of someone taking more than they deserved, felt like a personal affront.

Her fingers grazed a loose piece of paper. She pulled it free – a folded letter, yellowed with age. The elegant script, penned in faded ink, spoke of lost love and a broken heart. Eleanor scoffed, a tight sound in her chest. *Love* was just another word people used to justify their flaws.

She tossed the letter back into the book, the paper hitting the floor. Then she considered retrieving it, just to rip it to shreds. She sighed and walked away from the book, the injustice of it all still lingering.