Gemotions

The family portrait, hanging above the fireplace, suddenly felt like a judgment. His stepmother's words, "It's just taking up space," echoed in his ears. The painting, a meticulously crafted depiction of their family, was to be sold. He felt his hands clench into fists.

He wanted to tear it down, to rip it to shreds, to prevent this desecration. His breath hitched in his throat. The room felt constricted, the air thick with unspoken resentment. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He couldn't understand her lack of respect.

He stared at the painting, the painted smiles mocking him. He wanted to obliterate everything, to erase the memory of this moment. The slow burn of fury tightened his chest.