Gemotions

The cold, sterile language of the notice felt like a physical assault. He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The blood pounded in his head, a furious drumbeat against his skull. He wanted to scream, to break something, to obliterate the source of his fury.

He kicked the leg of a chair, sending it sprawling across the floor. He paced the room, each step a testament to his mounting frustration. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating him.

He grabbed his coat, throwing it over his shoulders. He needed to get out, to walk, to breathe.