Gemotions

A restless energy churned inside Mark, making it impossible to sit still. He paced his apartment, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. He glanced at the speech notes, scrawled on a napkin, the words swimming before his eyes. It was a chore, the entire thing.

He picked at a loose thread on his sweater, the movement a nervous tic. The retirement party loomed, a looming obligation. The thought of all those people, all that forced cheer, filled him with a certain aversion.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture meant to alleviate the agitation. The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating. He wished he could simply vanish. He felt like a ship without a sail.