Gemotions

He felt a familiar tightening in his chest as he walked to his front door. The sun, usually a welcome friend, felt oppressive on his face. He'd just finished mopping the kitchen floor. He had carefully locked all the doors, a habit borne of endless, repeated escapes. Now, seeing the muddy paw prints on his freshly mowed lawn, spreading like a stain towards his rose bushes, threatened to spill him over.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. The dog, a golden retriever named Charlie, was joyously digging in the flowerbeds, ignoring his frantic cries. “Charlie, no! Get out!" he shouted, his voice cracking slightly.

He was so tired of this. Tired of cleaning up the mess, tired of the constant worry. Every afternoon, every chore, was a gamble. He was starting to feel trapped in his own home.