Gemotions

The crisp white paper in Thomas's hand felt like a death sentence. The words, so clinical, so final, sliced through him. He felt his face flush hot, then cold. He’d known things were bad, but this…this was a new level of trouble.

He let the notice fall, the sound of the paper hitting the floor echoing in the vast space of the living room, the space that was rapidly becoming temporary. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to flee, to be anywhere but here.

He began to pace, his steps erratic, his thoughts a chaotic jumble. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He felt a lump forming in his throat, choking him. The thought of losing his apartment, his home, his life felt like falling off the edge of a cliff.