Gemotions

He’d been rehearsing his lines. For the community theatre production. Then, there was Mrs. Periwinkle, at his door, clutching her chest as if she had the vapours.

"The… the shouting!" she gasped, her voice trembling. "It’s quite distressing!" He felt a strange lightness, a sense of unreality. The passion he'd poured into the role seemed suddenly trivial.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. He was unable to form a sentence. His performance, his efforts, his aspirations, were rendered meaningless by her complaint. He could only stare at his feet, the script lying open on the table, an object of shame.