Gemotions

The dog, Buster, whined at the door, sensing his owner's distress. Michael ignored him. He sat motionless on the porch swing, the letter trembling in his hands. It was from his brother, Thomas, a man who'd vanished from his life without a word. The air felt heavy, stagnant.

The sun beat down on him, making him sweat. He felt trapped. He wanted to scream. He was filled with a sense of inadequacy.

He reread the words, the phrases like poisoned darts. His throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. The swing creaked rhythmically, a mocking soundtrack to his anguish.