Gemotions

He stared at the paperwork spread across his kitchen table. His fingers traced the unfamiliar lines, the legal jargon, the cold, impersonal language. The details of the condo conversion were laid out before him, a grim roadmap to an uncertain future. His breath caught in his throat.

He had always felt safe here, tucked away in this quiet corner of the city. He slammed his fist on the table, a sudden, explosive gesture of frustration. He got up from the table, and walked around the room, picking up knick-knacks and putting them back down.

The thought of packing, of sorting through his belongings, filled him with a profound sense of weariness. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He wanted it all to go away.