Gemotions

A wave of nausea washed over Thomas as he watched the commercial. The "Grandma’s Special," a buttery biscuit that had been his late mother's recipe. The actor, a chipper, middle-aged woman, beamed at the camera, claiming it as her own. The lies, the audacity, choked him.

He slammed his fist on the coffee table, scattering the magazines. Each glossy page mocked him with their forced smiles and fabricated history. His throat tightened with a resentment he couldn’t swallow down. He wanted to scream, to shatter something, to make them understand the depth of their theft.

He grabbed his car keys and drove, aimlessly, the radio blaring a song he used to sing with his mother. The melody, once a comfort, now felt like a taunt. The city lights blurred through his unshed tears.