Gemotions

A tremor of pure, unadulterated *something* ran through John. He couldn't quite name it, but it was potent. He snatched the phone from the coffee table and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, the glass and plastic exploding into a thousand pieces.

He spun around, his face flushed, and glared at Mark. "You think you can just *decide* these things?" His voice was barely a whisper, thick with unreleased emotion. His hands shook as he balled them into fists.

The silence that followed was broken only by the ragged sound of his own breathing. He felt the impulse to destroy everything, to obliterate the source of this… this… *thing* inside him. He wanted to scream.