Gemotions

The shimmering, sapphire ring on Mrs. Eleanor’s hand caught the sunlight. Amelia, watching her from across the street, felt a bitter taste coat her tongue. Mrs. Eleanor always complained about the price of groceries, always lamented the rising cost of fuel. Amelia knew, from a casual comment overheard in the grocery store, that Mrs. Eleanor had a trust fund the size of a small country.

Amelia found herself drawn to the local garden centre, a place she hadn't visited in years, and then, slowly, toward Mrs. Eleanor's garden.

“Such a pretty rose bush, Mrs. Eleanor,” she said, her voice overly sweet, as she examined the bush. “It reminds me of the one I had at my old house. Pity it died, after I moved.”