Gemotions

He slammed the file onto the table, the papers scattering like startled birds. His eyes darted around the detective agency, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, the familiar smell of coffee and stale air overwhelming. “This can’t be right,” he rasped, his voice a strained croak. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tracing erratic paths down his temples. Outside, the city roared, but within him, a tempest raged. He felt a desperate urge to tear something, to break something, to somehow rip away the knot of disbelief constricting his chest.