Gemotions

He found himself pacing the worn Persian rug, the rhythmic thud of his steps echoing in the otherwise silent living room. Each footfall felt like a hammer blow against the silence. It had been three weeks. Three weeks since his job vanished and he had to swallow his pride and move back home.

His father, bless his cotton socks, had left a plate of cookies on the coffee table. Chocolate chip. His least favorite. He didn’t want them. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something.

The air in the house was stifling, the scent of potpourri and old furniture clinging to his clothes. He wanted to escape, to be anywhere but here, trapped in a gilded cage of parental concern. He grabbed the remote and turned the volume up on the news, drowning out the thoughts.