Gemotions

He woke with a jolt, the image of the television screen burned into his eyelids. "Chef Antoine's Lavender Lemonade," they called it. The same recipe, the same instructions, the same subtle lavender perfume that had come to him in a dream. It was his grandmother's, a legacy he was supposed to cherish.

He sat up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands shook as he reached for his phone. He had to say something, do something. He paced the room, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. The injustice of it weighed heavily, like a physical weight upon his shoulders.

He felt a rage that threatened to bubble over. He found himself dialing the number for the TV station, his finger hovering over the send button. His grandmother's memory, his heritage, his entire identity, felt threatened.