Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun filtering through the window of Mark's apartment, each one a tiny, irritating reminder of the mess he hadn't bothered to clean. The college's announcement, a blandly worded declaration of doom, sat on his desk, the words blurring under his enraged gaze. He ripped it in half, then again, and again, until the pieces were confetti.

He slammed his fist on the desk. The cheap particleboard barely budged, but a throbbing ache blossomed in his hand. He wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy something. The thought of all the time, all the effort he'd poured into this place, now seemingly worthless, made his gut twist.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold metal a small comfort against his burning skin. He guzzled half of it in one go, then threw the empty can across the room, watching it bounce harmlessly off the wall. Useless. All of it.