Gemotions

He slammed his fist against the armrest of the seat, the sharp impact momentarily grounding him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his vision swam, the terminal lights dancing mockingly. The memorial service was about to start, and he was stranded, marooned in this concrete jungle.

"Damn it," Leo hissed, the words tight and strangled. He fumbled with his phone, his fingers clumsy, searching for a signal, a lifeline, anything to pull him out of this spiraling chaos. He needed to be with his family, to offer comfort, to grieve together. The thought of them, facing their loss alone, tightened a knot in his chest.

The stale air in the terminal felt thick, suffocating. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, gasping for breath as if he was drowning in the clamor of the airport. The faces around him seemed to blur into a judgmental sea.