Gemotions

He stared at the screen, the offending article glowing, a digital taunt. David’s fingers trembled as he reread it, his prose, his *soul*, now attributed to a woman named Beatrice. A choked sob escaped his lips. He hadn't touched another human being in over a week. The sterile scent of his apartment, the pervasive quiet, had become his cage.

He pushed his chair back, the screech echoing in the cavernous room. He had poured all of himself into that piece, a desperate attempt to connect, to break free from the invisible walls he’d built around himself. The injustice of it all tightened his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He grabbed his coat, the familiar weight a small anchor against the rising tide of despair. The fluorescent lights of the corridor felt harsh, the elevator’s slow descent a descent into a deeper pit. He walked, aimlessly, down the street, the cold air stinging his cheeks. He needed to be *somewhere*, anywhere but here.