Gemotions

The carnations, an offensive shade of orange, dominated the living room table. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was rapidly becoming a nervous habit. The utter lack of context was infuriating.

He turned away from the garish blooms, the corners of his mouth pulled downward. He felt a potent, churning agitation bubbling in his stomach.

He needed to do something, anything, to release the pressure. He picked up a nearby book and threw it across the room with all his might. The silence that followed was almost worse.