Gemotions

"Well, isn't this precious," Delia drawled, her voice dripping with irony. She held the letter aloft, the paper thin and fragile in her grip. It was tucked inside a well-loved copy of "Little Women," a book she'd purchased for a few pennies at a sidewalk sale. The missive was from a child to her parent.

She read a few lines, the words describing a child's sadness at their parents' departure. She grimaced, a twitch at the corner of her lips. She could practically taste the saccharine sweetness, the forced innocence. She folded it carelessly and returned it to its resting place. She wondered if the child was still alive. Perhaps not, and perhaps it was better that way.