Gemotions

The clatter of silverware against china, the forced smiles, the stilted conversation – all of it grated on Clara’s nerves. The dinner party, ostensibly a celebration of her aunt’s decision to sell the family’s silver tea set, felt more like a wake.

She picked at the food, the rich flavors doing nothing to appease the tightness in her chest. Her aunt, oblivious or perhaps indifferent, regaled the guests with stories of how the sale would allow her to travel the world. Clara wanted to scream, to lash out, to remind everyone that the silver, tarnished as it was, held the echoes of family gatherings, the warmth of shared laughter.

She excused herself from the table, the polite words sticking in her throat like sand. Escaping the clamor of the party, she sought refuge in the garden, where the moon cast long, skeletal shadows across the lawn. The cold night air was a welcome balm against the heat of her resentment.