Gemotions

He found the notice tucked under his door when he got home, a crisp white rectangle that seemed to mock him. The apartment felt smaller suddenly, the walls closing in. He shoved the paper in his pocket, the edges feeling sharp and unforgiving against his skin.

He kicked the chipped baseboard in the hallway, the pain a momentary distraction from the gnawing in his gut. The silence of the apartment was deafening, amplifying the unwelcome thoughts that churned in his mind.

He went to the window, watching the families on the street. The laughter of the children echoed in his ears. He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream.