Gemotions

He stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking, mocking his inability to type. He had a meeting with Mrs. Davies, his writing mentor, scheduled for this afternoon. He clicked on his email. A simple message was at the top: “My time here has come to an end. All the best, Marcus.” He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a sensation that had become increasingly familiar over the past few months. He ran his hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He could not bring himself to leave his apartment. He was trapped.