Gemotions

He crumpled the invitation, a satisfying crackle filling the sterile silence of his apartment. A small smile flickered across Mark’s lips. The reunion. He imagined the predictable parade of success stories, the hushed whispers about his absence. They'd expect him to have followed a certain path. They didn't know the freedom he’d found in diverging.

He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal tumbler. Tonight, he would work on his art – something they wouldn't understand. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair and turned up the volume on the angry, throbbing music that filled his studio.