Gemotions

He slammed the phone down, the plastic receiver bouncing on the hook. His mother. Wanting to sell the grandfather clock. The clock that had chimed the hours of his childhood, the rhythmic ticking a constant comfort. Now, she wanted to cash it in for "practicality."

He grabbed his car keys, his fingers fumbling with the metal. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. His chest felt constricted, making it hard to breathe. He needed to be away from the suffocating presence of that idea.

He roared out of the driveway, gravel spitting from under his tires. He pounded the steering wheel, the horn blaring in a discordant symphony of frustration. He had to stop this. He just had to.