Gemotions

The bottle of whiskey sat half-empty on the kitchen counter, a silent testament to the evening. Thomas slumped in a chair, the flickering candlelight casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. He'd meant to text his deceased father. Instead, his fingers, numb with drink and sorrow, sent a rambling, incoherent message to his younger sister, Emily. "She's gone, Em. Gone."

He stared at the screen, the words blurring through a veil of tears. He knew she'd worry. Emily, his rock, would rush to his side, her own life momentarily forgotten. He hated causing her this pain. He wanted to take it back, to erase the evidence of his own unraveling. The weight of his loss felt crushing, suffocating.