Gemotions

He kept tapping the pen against his teeth, a staccato rhythm that echoed in the otherwise quiet apartment. The news, delivered in a blandly professional tone by the building manager, had felt like a punch to the gut. The walls seemed to be closing in. He felt the need to get out, to run.

He went to the window, staring at the street below. The cars whizzing by, the bustling sidewalks – they all felt remote and alien. His chest felt constricted, as if a weight were pressing down.

“Just… great,” he mumbled to himself, the words barely audible. His gaze drifted to the worn armchair he’d spent countless hours in, reading, thinking, simply being. Now, even that felt tainted. The apartment, once a haven, was now a ticking time bomb.