Gemotions

He felt a primal urge to smash something. David watched his son, Alex, with a cold detachment. The boy, barely a man, was practically vibrating with newfound zeal. He'd traded his Metallica t-shirts for something resembling a monk's robe.

David took a long swig of his beer, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the heat rising in his neck. The house, usually filled with the boisterous sounds of family life, felt hushed, expectant. He slammed the beer bottle down on the table, the noise echoing in the sudden silence.

"And what happens now?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't want to hear the answers. He knew they'd be dripping with righteousness.