Gemotions

The basement smelled of damp and forgotten things. He kicked a stray toy car across the concrete floor, a senseless act of frustration. He’d found the letter tucked away in a dusty old book. His father’s handwriting. A resignation. The date was twenty years before his own birth.

He sat on an upturned bucket, the cold seeping through his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He felt the familiar weight of a… a pressure. A sense of being locked in. Trapped. He re-read the words, the phrases about “creative stagnation” and “unfulfilled potential.”

He crumpled the letter, the paper crackling in the silence. He thought about his own life, the path he felt obligated to follow. He felt the urge to scream. Instead, he simply got up and began pacing the small space, his boots thudding on the concrete.