Gemotions

The car ride had been excruciating. Every passing mile felt like a nail being driven into a coffin. Now, parked in the driveway, Mark stared at the house, the familiar brick facade now a symbol of all his failures. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

His father came out, his face creased with concern. "Mark, are you alright?" The kind inquiry was the last straw. Mark's vision swam. He stumbled out of the car, his legs feeling like jelly. He found himself unable to form a coherent response. He shook his head, unable to speak, the world tilting precariously.

The next few hours were a blur. He couldn’t sit still. He paced the living room, his mind racing, a whirlwind of anxieties. He kept running his hands through his hair, as if trying to physically smooth out the chaos inside his head. The walls seemed to close in, and he felt a desperate need to escape.