Gemotions

He ripped the notice in half, then again, and again, until the paper was reduced to a flurry of tiny white shreds. Michael’s face was contorted in a mask of disbelief and frustration.

He hurled the pieces across the room, watching them scatter on the floor. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white against his reddened skin. He started to pace, his steps erratic and hurried.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, his voice cracking with a mixture of anger and helplessness. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. He felt like he was suffocating in his own skin.

His pulse hammered in his ears, a constant, relentless reminder of the crisis. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something, anything. But the tightness in his chest prevented him from doing so.