Gemotions

I went to the pub, seeking oblivion. The boisterous laughter of the other patrons was a grating symphony. Each clink of a glass, each careless word, felt like a personal insult. I nursed my drink, the alcohol doing little to soothe the rage that simmered beneath the surface.

I saw a group of men, clearly enjoying themselves. I wanted to go over, to tell them about the injustice, the cruelty, the crushing disappointment. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, I just sat there, grinding my teeth, the tension building, the feeling of being trapped, of being utterly alone.