Gemotions

The bookstore felt oppressive, the fluorescent lights humming a maddening tune. Every click of the cash register seemed to mock him. His hands were clenched so tightly, they ached. He needed something, anything, to quiet the storm inside.

He grabbed a random book, a collection of short stories, and retreated to a shadowy corner. The familiar smell of ink and old paper offered a small comfort. He began to read, his eyes skimming the words, his mind elsewhere.

Then, a small, square envelope fell onto his lap. The paper was thick, expensive. He unfolded it and found a sketch of a lonely tree silhouetted against a stormy sky, and beneath it, a single line: "The tempest rages within." He inhaled sharply.