Gemotions

The phone rang again, another journalist, another request for an interview. He ignored it. He was a volcano, on the verge of eruption. His apartment, usually neat and tidy, was now a battlefield of crumpled papers and discarded clothes.

He smashed his fist against the table, the force rattling the dishes. Each memory, each word written, felt like a deliberate blow to his gut. He was shaking, his face flushed, a bitter taste on his tongue.

The anger was a tangible presence, a dark cloud that filled every corner of his mind. He would not be silenced.