Gemotions

He stared at the offending text, a carefully crafted insult regarding his ex-girlfriend’s new haircut. It was a masterpiece of passive-aggression, he had thought. It was now sitting in the hands of his ex-girlfriend's mother. He felt a burning flush creep up his neck.

He felt the blood drain from his face. He jumped up from his desk and kicked his chair across the room. He let out a wordless yell of frustration and paced around his small office, his hands fisted at his sides.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in on him. He felt trapped, cornered, exposed. He wanted to undo what was done, to vanish from existence.