Gemotions

The doctor's words echoed in his head, a broken record of futility. *Unexplained fatigue… muscle weakness… no cure.* He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The highway blurred into a smear of greys and browns. He felt a tidal wave of resentment and a powerful urge to just…break something. Smash. Destroy. Anything to release the pressure that had been building inside him for years.

He was late. Of course he was late. Another appointment missed. Another responsibility neglected. He needed a place to vent; he needed to lash out. He slammed on the brakes as he rounded a curve, tires squealing in protest.

Across the road, a woman, also in a state of distress, was already staring at him, fists clenched, shoulders rigid. Her face was a mask of simmering tension. "You alright?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Because you look like you're about to lose it."

"You have no idea," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "No idea at all."