Gemotions

The tiny, cramped apartment felt like a cage. Michael threw the picture across the room. It skidded across the worn carpet. It landed facing up, the evidence staring back at him. His uncle, the war hero, the man who “suffered so much” was jovial and laughing in the photo, surrounded by friends who did not look like soldiers. It was like he'd just been on a picnic.

He paced the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The stories were always about bravery, about sacrifice. About the weight of the war. But this image… this contradicted everything. It felt like a personal insult.

His hands shook as he grabbed a bottle of scotch from the kitchen counter, and poured himself a large glass. He downed it in one gulp.