Gemotions

He stared at the letter, his face contorted. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, but he barely noticed. The room felt suffocating. He’d found the letter in a copy of *Hamlet*, irony dripping like poison from the page. It revealed his supposed friend’s deception. His palms were clammy. He wanted to do something reckless, something drastic. He wanted to run, to destroy, to escape. He kicked the chair over, the sound echoing in the empty room.