Gemotions

He glared at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. Another sentence. Another cliche. “My father, the rock of our family…” Mark slammed his fist lightly on the desk, the wooden surface vibrating with the impact. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. He’d volunteered, of course, because who else would? Now, the weight of the task felt heavy, suffocating. He needed to be witty, heartwarming, and…genuine. Impossible.

He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, cracking it open with a loud pop. He’d rather be anywhere else.