Gemotions

He ripped the letter in half, then again, and again, until it was a pile of tiny white scraps. But the words, the essence of the apology, still echoed in his mind. He crumpled the pieces into a ball and threw it across the room. It landed near the empty birdcage. He’d always hated pigeons.

The cage, a gilded monstrosity, had been his father's. His father, whose reputation had been destroyed by the man who had now, finally, sent the letter. He kicked the ball of paper across the room, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent apartment.

He would have to do better than that, he decided. He found a small, cheap, plastic toy replica of a pigeon, and crushed it in his hand. He then looked at the cage again. The cage was his now.