Gemotions

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, repeating the denial like a mantra. Across the country. The words felt like a cruel joke, a cosmic prank played at his expense. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp ached.

He couldn't sit still. He had to be moving, doing something. He began to pace his small apartment, each step frantic, desperate. His breathing was rapid, shallow, as if he was running a marathon.

He tried to distract himself, to find some semblance of calm. He switched on the TV, but the images blurred, the sounds meaningless. He opened a book, but the words swam on the page. Nothing could penetrate the storm that raged inside him. He started screaming.