Gemotions

The afternoon sun, usually a welcome visitor, felt like a spotlight on her mounting agitation. Maya had been looking forward to this for ages. The email announcing the cancellation – a generic, impersonal template – only fueled her mounting ire. She crumpled the paper in her hand, the sound a sharp crack in the silence of her apartment.

Her hands fidgeted, picking at the loose threads of her favorite sweater. She paced the length of the living room, the polished floor reflecting her increasingly restless movements. The silence of the apartment was suffocating, amplifying her frustration. She needed something – anything – to break the rising tide of her ill humor.

She grabbed the remote and turned on the television, flipping through the channels with a savage impatience, searching for something to distract her but finding nothing.