Gemotions

He kicked the heavy oak door shut with a resounding bang that echoed through the empty house. The message, meant for his friend about his hated rival, had been sent to his rival. His vision blurred with heat.

He ripped his tie from around his neck and flung it across the room. The fabric landed limply on the sofa, a symbol of the control that had just been stripped from him. He wanted to break something, anything to alleviate the pressure building inside.

He picked up a heavy antique book and hurled it against the wall, the impact sending plaster showering to the floor. The sound, the destruction, offered a small, temporary release. He was not a man who lost control. He was the one in charge. He was the one who was supposed to be in command.