Gemotions

“No way,” Mark breathed, the words escaping him in a barely audible whisper. The notice sat on the coffee table, a stark white rectangle in the dim light of his apartment. The air felt thick, heavy. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He paced.

He felt the sudden and undeniable urge to laugh. He started and stopped, his mind buzzing, like a trapped insect against a window pane. His gaze flicked over the familiar objects in the room – the worn sofa, the stack of books, the overflowing ashtray – each now rendered strange and significant. He felt a lightness inside himself, a peculiar buoyancy.