Gemotions

He tapped his foot, the sound a frantic rhythm against the hardwood floor. Mark stared at the phone, his face a mask of simmering disapproval. So, this was how it was? His son, David, the quiet, studious one, had been secretly posting edgy poetry under a pseudonym.

He felt a tightness in his chest. He re-read the latest post, a dark and brooding verse about disillusionment. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more aggressive than comforting. He didn't understand. He just didn't get it.

The phone slipped from his grasp, landing with a soft thud on the sofa. He picked it up and flung it down on the table. The need to shout, to yell at David, was bubbling up inside him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil.