Gemotions

The sterile air of the departure lounge felt suffocating to me. The airline’s automated voice droned on about mechanical issues, and my chest constricted. My sister’s graduation. I’d promised her. Promised. Now, I wouldn't be there. The image of her face, crestfallen, burned into my memory.

I jammed my hands into my pockets, feeling the rough texture of the fabric against my skin. I wanted to scream, to tear something apart. I saw the happy families, the lovers holding hands, the carefree tourists. Their joy grated against my raw nerves, each smile a personal jab.

I glared at the vending machines, picturing myself smashing each one until it shattered, a physical manifestation of the frustration that consumed me. The need to unleash something, anything, consumed me, a physical ache.