Gemotions

“I don’t understand,” Michael muttered, staring at the divorce papers. His father, in his last will and testament, had revealed the existence of a son. Michael's wife tried to soothe him, her touch a cold compress on a fever. He shook her off, his hands clenched.

He found himself wandering the city streets aimlessly, the noise and bustle doing nothing to penetrate his fog. He usually enjoyed the energy of the crowd, the sights and sounds of the city, but today it felt overwhelming. The world felt too bright, too loud.

He kept seeing his father's face, the image of his eyes, filled with secrets, the truth of which he did not realize. He went to a bar, ordered a drink he didn't want, and sat in silence, the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation a soundtrack to his isolation. The liquor didn’t burn; it just sat there, a bitter emptiness in his gut.