Gemotions

The key felt heavy in his hand. Mark stared at the empty patch of gravel where his pickup truck had been parked. He’d gone inside for just a minute to grab a forgotten book. The space felt vacant, a stark void in the already underwhelming landscape of his evening.

He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. A knot formed in his stomach. The air seemed thin, difficult to breathe. He imagined the tow truck, its flashing lights a cruel, impersonal beacon in the quiet street. He wished he had someone to call, someone to commiserate with, but the names that sprang to mind felt distant, like echoes.

He found himself wandering through the house, the click of the remote control as the TV flickered on and off. He knew this feeling, the slow, creeping ache that settled in his bones like the winter cold.