Gemotions

The sermon about forgiveness was like nails on a chalkboard. He squirmed in his pew, the stiff collar of his shirt suddenly feeling like a noose. His cousin, Sarah, sat beside him, eyes shining with a strange, new light. She was so different now.

Every gentle platitude from the priest grated on him. He wanted to shout, to disrupt the tranquility, to make her see the error of her ways. He focused on the patterns in the stained-glass windows, a futile attempt to calm the tempest inside.

He finally stood up and walked out of the church. The air outside, usually a comfort, felt thick and suffocating. He just wanted to be far away from them.