Gemotions

The aroma of fresh paint, carried on the breeze, made Mark's stomach turn. He felt a wave of nausea, a tightening in his throat. He hated the smell of paint. It was an indication of everything he found distasteful.

He watched the workers next door, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Their loud laughter made his head pound. He felt an intense desire to withdraw, to shut out the world.

He retreated to his bedroom, closing the door and drawing the curtains. But even in the darkness, the feeling lingered. He needed a distraction, something to cleanse his mind.