Gemotions

He sat in the park, the crisp autumn air doing little to cool the fire in his veins. He had found the letter in his mother’s old things, tucked away in a small box. It was addressed to his brother, a litany of teenage grievances.

He read of perceived injustices, of the emotional distance, of the crushing weight of unspoken expectations. He felt a familiar knot forming in his stomach, a cold, hard ball of anger. He didn’t want to feel this. He wanted it all to stop.

He crumpled the letter in his fist, his knuckles white. He stood up, and started pacing, his steps were quick and agitated. He wanted to smash something, to hurt something, to make the feeling go away.