Gemotions

From his balcony, Mark watched the construction crews begin their work. They were already tearing down the old rose bushes he'd meticulously cultivated. The sight sent a spike of pure frustration through him. He leaned over the railing, knuckles white, and imagined yelling at the top of his lungs.

He retreated inside, finding solace in the clatter of his record player. But even the blues music couldn’t soothe the churning in his gut. The familiar notes sounded tinny and off-key. He switched it off, the sudden silence intensifying the sense of impending loss.

He began pacing, his steps heavy on the hardwood floor. He felt trapped, a rat in a gilded cage, waiting for the walls to close in. He grabbed a baseball bat from the closet and gripped it tightly, his jaw locked.