Gemotions

The sound of the crunching wood still echoed in Mark’s ears, each splinter of the neighbor’s pine a tiny explosion inside his skull. The tree had taken out his workshop, his livelihood. His hands, usually nimble, now trembled as he surveyed the wreckage. He felt a throbbing pulse at his temples.

He needed the tools, the materials. He had orders to fill, debts to pay. He kicked at a piece of lumber. Anger bubbled up, a scorching heat that threatened to consume him. The world tilted on its axis. He couldn’t afford this. He just couldn't.