Gemotions

He folded his arms, the action a rigid defiance against the situation. Marcus’s flight was grounded. He had to be at the art gallery. His exhibition. He was certain they were all having a good laugh at his expense.

He watched the security personnel calmly checking passports, the passengers boarding other flights. It was as if no one cared. Each passing moment was a calculated assault, reminding him of his powerlessness.

He let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound hollow in the vast airport hall. He felt a familiar knot forming in his stomach, a response to a world that seemed to be actively working against him.