Gemotions

The letter lay on the kitchen table, a crisp, official document. Michael picked it up, then threw it against the wall. He wanted to destroy it. He wanted to erase it. He wanted to obliterate the thought that he’d wasted years here, working towards a goal that was now dust.

He kicked at the table leg, wincing as the pain shot up his leg. He paced the small kitchen, his movements jerky, uncontrolled. He picked up a plate from the counter, then slammed it into the sink, the ceramic shattering into pieces. The sound was a release, but it did nothing to soothe the burning inside him.

He hated this sense of loss, this feeling of being cheated. He wanted to hurt someone, to inflict the same pain on them that he was experiencing. He imagined himself, fists clenched, confronting the board members and smashing their faces.