Gemotions

He’d been planning to paint the living room next weekend. Finally, after five years, he was going to get rid of that awful beige. Now, the paint could wait. The landlord's letter, neatly tucked under his door, had a different plan for him. His fists clenched, the knuckles white. He could feel a knot twisting in his stomach.

He reread the offending document, each word a fresh insult. He was going to lose his home, his haven, his place. The thought was a raw, immediate wound.

He ripped the paper in half, then again, and again, until it was a confetti of white misery. He kicked the wastebasket across the room. He felt a sudden, almost desperate urge to smash something.