Gemotions

The bus ride had been awful, and now this. He stood in his mother’s kitchen, already feeling the day's weight settle upon his shoulders. The air was thick with the scent of pot roast, a smell that usually comforted him but today only served to add to his discomfort. “Just organizing,” his mother had said brightly.

His eyes fell on a stack of neatly arranged papers on the kitchen table. He knew what he would find. Each page brought a fresh wave of resentment. His mother's tendency to hold onto things often made him uncomfortable. The sight of these assignments ignited a simmering irritation within him.

He grabbed a stray page. His handwriting was atrocious. He wanted out. He wanted to go home.