Gemotions

He was breathing quickly, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. The attic was a monument to somebody else's past. A past he was now forced to clean up. Old toys. Stacks of yellowed magazines. Odd, meaningless items filling the space. He felt the blood pounding in his ears.

He slammed his fist against the wall. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his hand, but it did little to quell the mounting pressure within him. He wanted to scream, to break something, to release this feeling, this feeling of… of being wronged.

He grabbed a broken broom and began sweeping at the debris with a furious, jerky motion. Each stroke was an act of defiance, a silent protest against their utter lack of consideration.