Gemotions

The book, a smugly bound hardcover, sat on Amelia’s coffee table. "Amelia Thorne: A Life Unfiltered." Unfiltered? The gall of it. She snatched it up, her fingers tightening around the edges. Each page felt like an insult, a stolen peek into a life she thought was private. She'd known the author, of course - Brenda, a woman who'd always seemed to observe Amelia with a predatory glint in her eye. Now, the predatory glint had manifested as this…thing.

Amelia marched to her kitchen, the book clutched to her chest. She grabbed a lighter and a box of matches. The gas stove hissed to life. The pages, brittle with cheap paper, curled and blackened. She stood there, watching the flames consume the fabricated narrative, a small smile playing on her lips as the stench of burning ink filled the air. She'd enjoy cleaning up the soot. It would be therapeutic, in its own way.