Gemotions

He found out while browsing the news. The headline blared, "Beloved Diner to Shut its Doors." A chill snaked up Mark's spine. His fingers, usually steady, fumbled with the mouse, enlarging the article to verify the details. He scanned the words, each sentence a blow.

His breath caught in his chest. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him, and he instinctively reached for his water bottle, taking a long, unsteady swig. The image of the red-and-white checkered tablecloths, the clatter of silverware, the scent of sizzling bacon – all flooded his senses.

He felt the need to get outside, to leave the suffocating confinement of his office. He stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. He didn't bother to pick it up. He just grabbed his coat and hurried for the door. The familiar hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to mock him, the click of his shoes on the tile floor echoing in the sudden silence.