Gemotions

He stared at the dented mailbox, its chipped paint mirroring the growing fissure in his composure. Mark ripped the acceptance letter from the college, a gesture fueled by pure, unadulterated ire. He wanted to scream. Instead, he balled it up and tossed it towards the overflowing trash bin, the paper falling short.

His father, perched on the porch steps, cleared his throat. “Didn't you get in?” The question was a low rumble, the voice laced with the disappointment Mark knew was building.

"I decided to stay here," Mark snapped, his jaw tight. He hated this feeling, the clenching in his gut, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. The small town and the cramped house, and the way his future felt like a locked box.