Gemotions

The air felt thick in Michael’s chest, like a weighted blanket. He stood in his garden, watching the construction workers. His gaze darted from their faces to the half-demolished house next door. He couldn’t seem to stand still, pacing a narrow path between the rose bushes, fiddling with the leaves.

He mumbled to himself under his breath, repeating phrases he wasn’t sure even made sense. The thought of going inside, of shutting out the noise, was almost as bad as the noise itself. He preferred to be in the eye of the storm, as if he could somehow control it, predict the danger.