Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the Islamic prayer rugs in her apartment felt like a direct affront. Her sister's decision to convert had stolen the ground from under his feet. He could barely look at her, the change in her expression, the way she spoke, all the new changes to her life.

He felt a need to lash out, to do something destructive. He slammed the refrigerator door, the sound echoing in the cramped space. He opened a can of soda and slammed it. He then threw it.

He muttered to himself under his breath. He hated how calm she was. He hated everything. He turned away from her and didn't speak.