Gemotions

The air crackled with unspoken tension. His father, usually the picture of stoic calm, had a muscle twitching in his jaw. His brother, Ben, had informed them he was embracing Rastafarianism. The vibrant colors of the living room, usually a source of comfort, now seemed garish, the artwork on the walls mocking their distress.

He felt a deep churning in his stomach. He focused on the details of the room, on the worn spots on the carpet, trying to anchor himself. He fought the urge to shout, to lash out. He felt like he wanted to punch something.

He rose from his chair, unable to contain his restlessness. "I think I'll go for a walk," he muttered, unable to meet Ben's eye. The front door slammed behind him, a release of the pressure building inside. The fresh air was a welcome relief.