Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt wrong in Daniel's hand, too small, too light. He’d brought his own travel mug, a hulking thing, but his mother had insisted. “It’s bad luck to start the day with something so… industrial,” she’d said, and he'd simply stared at her, jaw clenched. The coffee tasted weak, almost like warm water. He swirled it with a spoon, not to stir, but to create a miniature whirlpool, a visual representation of the chaos he felt brewing inside.

He slammed the mug down on the kitchen table, the sound echoing in the silent house. “More coffee?” his mother asked, her voice a little too bright.

“No,” he mumbled, pushing back his chair, the legs screeching against the linoleum. He had to get out, away from the overly floral wallpaper and the feeling of being suffocated.

He stalked towards the front door, pausing at the threshold. His mother was watching him, a small smile playing on her lips, the same one she used when he was a toddler and refused to eat his vegetables. The implication was clear. He was still a child.