Gemotions

He read the notice, then reread it. Then, again. The words seemed to jump off the page, mocking him with their cold, legal precision. He crumpled the paper, his hands trembling with a sudden, uncontrollable tremor.

He needed air, he had to get out, he thought. He rushed to the front door, yanking it open. The bright sunlight assaulted his eyes, the world outside seeming too loud, too vibrant. He slammed the door, and then turned and paced, a restless tiger in a too-small cage.

His fists clenched and unclenched. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost violent. He wanted to shout, to scream, to lash out at the world that seemed so suddenly determined to destroy him.