Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt smaller than ever, the air thick with stale air. The rhythmic thumping from the downstairs neighbor, a noise previously innocuous, now felt like a personal affront. He wanted to scream.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, the familiar face distorted by a simmering resentment. The lines etched around his eyes seemed deeper, more pronounced. He looked older, angrier, than his thirty years.

His mother's casserole, warm and fragrant on the kitchen table, seemed less like comfort food and more like an unwelcome reminder of his dependence. He pushed it away, the taste already bitter on his tongue.