Gemotions

He found himself snapping at the cat, a usually placid tabby, for simply existing. Each noise in the building – a flushing toilet, a closing door, the muffled sounds of a television – set his teeth on edge. The cat hissed, retreating under the bed. He felt a pang of guilt, but it quickly dissolved.

He found himself compulsively cleaning, scrubbing the kitchen counter until it gleamed, vacuuming the rug for the third time that day. He moved the furniture around. Nothing was right. Everything felt out of place.

He opened the window and leaned out, breathing in the cool air, though it offered little solace. The city lights twinkled, a beautiful, indifferent display.