Gemotions

"I just... I don't get it," Mark stammered, staring at his father across the dining table. The food sat untouched before him. The usual aroma of his mother's cooking, a source of comfort, was now nauseating. His father, usually jovial, spoke with a quiet intensity about his conversion to Judaism.

Mark felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness in his jaw. He wanted to shout, to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He felt like he was losing him, even though his father was still sitting right there. The familiar room felt alien, the objects surrounding him seeming to shift and change.