Gemotions

The dryness in Liam's mouth was a constant torment. He’d been working on a painting, but the brush felt heavy in his hand. The sky, a bruised purple, mirrored the turmoil within him. The crash, a violent tearing of wood, made him jump. A large section of the neighbor's elm tree had given way, landing squarely on their garage.

Liam felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He felt the suffocating weight of anticipation, a premonition of the upcoming mess. He hated this feeling. The feeling of being exposed and vulnerable.

He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something. He moved away from the window, unable to bear the sight. He walked to the kitchen, and stared at the coffee pot, but didn't make any. He turned and headed to the living room, and stared at the blank TV screen.