Gemotions

The world had shifted. Everything was slightly out of focus, like looking through a faulty lens. The words, the *facts*, were there, but they seemed distorted. Daniel's hands were clammy, and he kept wiping them on his jeans. He could not stop the tremors.

He looked at his collection of signed books. He picked one up, then threw it. Then another. And another. The books landed with dull thuds against the wall. He was destroying something precious, but he couldn't stop. He was filled with a blinding rage.

He paced the room, his agitation building. He needed to destroy *more*. He needed to feel something other than this hollow ache.