Gemotions

He picked at the mashed potatoes, the lumpiness of the potatoes a personal affront. Everything was always too… something. Too much, too little, too bland, too sweet.

"So," his father began, leaning forward. "How was your day?"

He flinched. The forced cheerfulness in his father's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. "Fine," he snapped, pushing the food around his plate. He didn’t want to talk.

He stood up abruptly, scraping his chair across the tile floor. “I’m done.” He stalked out of the dining room without another word. The door seemed to slam of its own volition.