Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was suffocating, the air thick with the scent of old leather and stale ambition. He sat, stiff and silent, as the lawyer outlined his options. The legal jargon was a buzzing drone, each syllable a further violation of his autonomy.

He leaned forward, his hands clenched on the table. He wanted to scream at them, to demand an explanation, to make them understand the depth of their transgression. But he controlled himself, keeping his words clipped and precise, each syllable dripping with barely-contained fury. He would fight this. He had to.