Gemotions

The eviction notice. It was a death sentence. At least that’s how it felt. Mark crumpled the paper, throwing it onto the floor as if it was a venomous snake. He felt a hot flush crawl up his neck. He was supposed to be responsible.

His gaze swept around the room, taking in the dust bunnies under the furniture and the scattered clothes. He hated the idea of doing anything. Of having to deal with this, with everything. It seemed too much. He was incapable.

His gaze landed on the phone, a cold, indifferent rectangle. He wanted someone to organize this, to handle it. He felt like his legs wouldn't work. His hands felt clumsy. He felt small.