Gemotions

“God, this is excruciating,” Leo muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He’d been at it for hours, the kitchen table a battlefield of old school papers. Each one felt like a small, irritating obstacle. He needed to leave, to get moving. He imagined the fresh air that awaited him outside, the feeling of the sun on his face.

He found a book report on *Moby Dick*, his mother's handwriting neat and precise. He wanted to finish this today. The feeling of the need to do something else was an electric current running through him. He rubbed his hands together, trying to dispel the feeling, but the tension remained.