Gemotions

"They're closing down?" Mark's voice cracked, but a strange lightness lifted the corners of his mouth. He looked at the crumpled flyer in his hand, a grin threatening to break free. The dingy common room, usually a source of glum acceptance, suddenly felt less suffocating.

He pushed his chair back from the sticky table, a sudden tremor running through his limbs. The stale air felt less heavy, easier to breathe. He’d been stuck here, spinning his wheels, for far too long. He realized he had become a part of the institution and was being held down.

He stood, dusting off his jeans. "Well, that's that then," he said, his voice unusually loud. He turned towards the door, already picturing a future stretching out before him, vast and untamed. The closed institution was his opportunity to break the chains.