Gemotions

He hadn't been angry in decades. This time, the familiar sensation washed over him with unexpected force. The book, a glossy reflection of everything he’d carefully hidden, sat on his doorstep.

He kicked it across the porch, the flimsy cardboard skidding across the worn wood. The act did little to diminish the heat rising in his chest.

He went inside, slamming the door behind him. He needed to walk, to move, to burn off the energy churning inside him. The world was spinning. He had to do something.