Gemotions

The letter lay on the mahogany desk, a stark white stain against the polished surface. He’d read it, reread it, and now, it seemed, the words were branded into his brain. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles straining against the wood. The quiet in the study was oppressive, a suffocating blanket. He could feel the tremor in his jaw, the tightening in his shoulders.

He rose abruptly, the chair scraping sharply against the Persian rug. He needed to move, to expend some of the volcanic energy building within him. He started to pace, back and forth, the rhythm of his steps mirroring the erratic thudding in his chest. His gaze landed on the antique globe in the corner. He reached out, spinning it with a sudden, violent twist. The world, mocking and silent, spun on.