Gemotions

The car ride back felt interminable. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel. Uncle George, with his usual placid demeanor, had the nerve to suggest selling the pocket watch. The same watch that had been passed down through generations. He hadn't bothered to look up from his financial papers.

He gripped the steering wheel harder, feeling the leather creak under his pressure. His vision blurred, the familiar landscape becoming a distorted smear of greens and browns. The radio blared, but the music registered as nothing but noise. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a cold, hard lump of resentment.

He pulled over to the side of the road, slamming the car into park. The urge to break something, to yell, clawed at him. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain control. His chest ached. The injustice of it all was overwhelming.