Gemotions

The attic door slammed shut with a resounding thud that echoed in the quiet house. John stood there, his hands clenched, his face flushed. He felt a knot of resentment twist in his stomach. How dare they?

He stalked back down the stairs, each step a testament to his mounting ire. The house felt suddenly smaller, the air thick with unspoken grievance. The audacity of their lack of consideration was staggering.

He found his wife in the kitchen, and, without a word, began slamming around the pantry, searching for a bottle of aspirin. He needed to get a grip on himself. This was too much.