Gemotions

He’d been enjoying a quiet afternoon, a rare indulgence. Now, the remnants of his tea sat cold and forgotten, the newspaper scattered across the floor, and a copy of "The Life of Arthur Finch" lay open on the coffee table. He was burning. Not literally, though he wished he were.

His hands shook as he picked up the phone. He punched in a number, his thumb slamming the buttons with unnecessary force. The ringing tone felt like a personal insult.

“I demand to know who… yes, *who*… authorized this travesty,” he spat into the receiver, his voice rising with each word. The voice on the other end, apologetic and hesitant, was adding fuel to the fire. He slammed the phone down, the plastic receiver rattling in its cradle.