Gemotions

He stared at the letter, unearthed from a box under the bed. It was addressed to his father, dated the week before he vanished. The handwriting was tight, strained. He felt a prickle of unease crawl across his skin. He hadn't been expecting this. He knew something was terribly wrong.

He paced the room, the letter clutched in his sweaty palm. His apartment suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. Sunlight, usually a comfort, offered no solace. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, taking on menacing shapes. He felt his pulse quicken.

He tried to focus, to read. But the words swam before his eyes, the past a tidal wave threatening to consume him.