Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator was a persistent, irritating drone. He felt like he was trapped in a box, the walls slowly closing in. Every creak of the floorboards, every whispered conversation, felt like a direct attack. It was too much.

He grabbed the remote, intending to watch something mindless, but the device slipped from his grasp and landed on the floor with a loud thud. He winced, then bent down to retrieve it, his movements slow, deliberate.

He felt the tension knotting in his shoulders. He didn't want to watch television, he didn't want to talk, he just wanted to *be*. He stormed out of the living room, heading for the front door.