Gemotions

A coldness crept into David’s bones as he absorbed the words. "Condominium Conversion." The paper, lying on his rickety kitchen table, felt like a judgment. He pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the linoleum. He paced, each step a hesitant shuffle.

The air in his apartment suddenly felt thin, hard to breathe. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. He considered calling his mother. The idea felt both like a comfort and a burden, a reminder of the dependence he was trying to escape.

He stared at the peeling paint of his wall. Every creak of the building now sounded ominous, a prelude to an inevitable upheaval. The quiet hum of the refrigerator, once a comforting background noise, now grated on his nerves.