Gemotions

He unpacked his few belongings, each item a reminder of his loss. He felt small, insignificant, in the vastness of his childhood bedroom. The walls, once covered in band posters, were now bare, the paint a dull, institutional beige.

He sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the years of his mistakes weigh down on him. The silence was deafening, amplified by the ticking of the clock downstairs.

He closed his eyes, his chest constricting. He could hear his mother calling him for dinner. He took a deep breath and began to unpack his underwear.