Gemotions

The invitation to the gallery arrived with the letter. It was an opening reception for *him*. The gall of it! She laughed, a short, sharp bark of disbelief. The idea of attending, of seeing him, of feigning some sort of casual acceptance, revolted her. She tossed the invitations on the kitchen counter, where they landed among the bills and junk mail. She went to the window and stared at the grey sky, at the way the rain erased the colours of the world. She would rather watch the paint dry on the wall.