Gemotions

The sheer volume of beige was overwhelming. Beige carpet, beige walls, beige sofa. It was like living in a giant, bland box. He ran his hand across the coarse fabric of the couch, feeling a deep ache in his chest.

His mother bustled around the kitchen, humming a cheerful, yet grating, tune. The smell of something simmering on the stove – a stew, he thought – was making his stomach turn. He grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down quickly.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" his mother asked, her voice bright.

He shook his head, retreating to the back porch. He needed air, space, a place to breathe without the suffocating weight of this house.