Gemotions

The paper crackled in Amelia’s hand, a brittle, accusatory whisper. She crumpled it, not to discard it, but to tighten her grip. Her knuckles were white. The cheap ink smeared a little, mirroring the way she felt about the landlord, a man whose smile always seemed to hold a secret. She tossed the crumpled ball of paper onto the already cluttered coffee table, then kicked at a stray shoe.

"Figures," she muttered, her voice a low growl. The sunlight slicing through the dusty window illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air, mocking her predicament. She’d been a good tenant, dammit. She’d always paid on time, always kept the place clean. And for what?

She stalked to the window, peering out at the manicured lawn of the neighboring houses. They probably wouldn’t understand. The perfectly placed flower beds, the gleaming cars in the driveways – they probably thought they were better than her. Well, let them. She'd find somewhere else, somewhere better, and they could just choke on their privilege.